Addiction
by Rose2000
Summary: Dick has been missing for months. When Jason finds him, he is shocked by how low Dick has sunk and is unsure how to help him. Rated for drug abuse.
1. Addiction

I don't own anything from DC.

Addiction

"So, you going to explain this?" Jason asked, gesturing around the room.

Dick shrugged. He on an old living room chair that had once been part of a fine three-piece suite, but was now patched up and fraying. That was like the rest of the furniture in the apartment – was once fine, but was now falling apart. Empty beer cans and vodka bottles covered sides and floors. The ashtray on the floor beside Dick's chair needed emptying about a month ago as cigarette ends were piled high in the tray and scattered about a metre across the floor around it. The most worrying aspect of the apartment was the discarded needles dotting around the floor.

"It's nothing," Dick said.

"Dick, this is not 'nothing'." Jason grabbed Dick's far too thin arm, exposing the bruising and tiny speckled scabs on the inside of his arm.

"Richard," Dick said pulling free.

"What?"

"Just Richard now."

"Why?"

"Dick just doesn't suit me anymore."

"But, that…" Jason shook his head. Dick not wanting to be referred to as a penis anymore showed how bad this situation was.

"You're not going to tell the others, are you?"

"I don't know." He paused for a moment and then said, "Dick, they don't if you're alive or dead."

"Richard."

"Is that all you fucking care about? Your name over your family?"

Dick shrugged again. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and avoided looking at Jason. "It's easier."

"Since when have you taken the easy road?"

"It was the only one I could take."

"They would have helped you. Probably still will, because you know, they're all big on the whole redemption thing."

Dick shook his head and closed his eyes to stop himself from crying. "I can't do it."

"You're going to kill yourself."

"I know." His voice was small, resigned, knowing the inevitable. He looked at Jason. His dull eyes looked large in his gaunt face. "I know."

Jason thought of the woman who was his mother in every way but blood. He remembered her last days, as she faded slowly; her son looking after her while her husband's whereabouts remained unknown. She was skinny as Dick; the shadows beneath her eyes had been as large as Dick's.

"I've got to go," he said, pushing himself away from the wall he was leaning against. "See you around."

He walked around the syringes and beer bottles, heading towards the door. He wanted a cigarette, but he would fight that urge today. Addiction couldn't hold him.

"Jay?"

He turned at the sound of his name. Dick stood the middle of his squalor, holding onto one arm with the other. His body shook.

"What?"

"Do you have any money on you? I'm a little short."

"What will you spend it on?"

"Please." He walked towards him, holding his hands out towards Jason. "I'll do anything."

I'll do anything. The same words said by a cold, hungry boy selling what was left of his innocence to the nameless men searching to appease their sleazy habits. The memories brought with it the familiar anger. Unable to feel another emotion, Jason grabbed Dick by the neck, slamming him against the wall, high enough that only the tops of his toes touched the floor. Dick grabbed the hands, but he had grown weak and was unable to free himself.

"Don't say that to me." Jason tightened his grip. "Ever."

"Sorry," Dick said in a gasp.

Jason released him. Dick slid to the floor. He curled up, resting his forehead against his knees. His body still shook, but this time because of his sobs.

"You may not call yourself it anymore, but you're still a dick, Dick." He knelt, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. In there were a couple of twenties that he held out to Dick. "Try not to… Just don't… Get some food with it at least."

Dick took the money. "Thank you." He pulled Jason into a hug, repeating his thanks. Jason patted his brother's back, feeling every individual bump of Dick's spine. He went to pull away, but Dick held him tight. At least Dick was still a clingy hugger; at least that hadn't changed. Jason pushed him off, stood straight and, muttering his goodbyes, left.

.

He didn't tell Bruce or any of the other members of the family. Dick was the golden boy, to see him looking anything less than golden, especially after the amount of time he had been missing, would destroy Bruce. Dick was alive, but not living. It reminded Jason of how he was between his time between digging out of his grave and his bath in the Pit. The family didn't need to see that.

Jason wasn't going to go back. Dick had made his choice and the idiot was going to have to live with it. It was hard to forget though. Red Hood's territory was part of town where everybody and their mother was on something. He saw people, wasting away to nothing, begging their dealers for their next hit. They were desperate and desperation led them to do things that destroyed what was left of their dignity. Dick's words, 'I'll do anything' made Jason wonder how far Dick had gone, how desperate he had been.

Seriously, how the hell did the Dick end up like that? Dick was too perfect to let something like that happen to him. If people were going to place bets on who would end up like that, then they would have chosen Jason, not Dick. Looking at Jason's history – the criminal father, the mother dying of an overdose, the streets, the things he did on the streets, Robin and the whole horrible situation after that – no-one would blame him if became addicted to something stronger than nicotine.

But Dick? Dick was the circus boy, the child acrobat, an ex-cop and a superhero. Dick took care of himself. Dick knew the stories, the risks. How the hell did he let himself get in that deep?

Jason made it a whole month of not seeing Dick, not getting involved. It was only after saving the Birds and the Bat from an incident with Dent that made him change his mind. He adhered to the no killing rule, stopped Two-Face and left before he could talk to the others. All he knew was that when Dick disappeared, Bruce took it hard. Jason knew that if stayed to chat he would have told his former mentor everything, so he left, surprising himself by heading towards Dick's shitty apartment.

It was late, but there were still people out 'working'. He walked quickly, glaring at anyone, warning them without speaking to stay away. On the way, he passed his old home in Crime Alley and avoided looking at it. He wrapped his jacket tighter around him, keeping out the chill of the autumn night air.

Dick's apartment was too easy to break into. Jason climbed in through a broken window into Dick's bathroom. He walked forward, hearing something crunch beneath his feet. Looking down, he saw that is was an empty syringe. He carried on walking. The light above him was missing a bulb.

In the main room the mess had increased. Dick was in the same chair as last time. His head rested against the armrest and his dark hair, matted and long, fell into his closed eyes. He wore a pair of old, thin sweats and a stained, grey t-shirt. Tied tight around his right bicep was a zip tie, an item Nightwing used to secure criminals with. Below that, sticking out of a vein in the crease of his elbow was a half-empty syringe.

"Dick? Richard?" Jason said, running towards Dick. He crouched before him and pulled the needle from his arm, pressing his gloved finger over the hole to stop the blood flow. "Dickie-bird, you hear me?"

Dick opened his eyes. He squinted and blinked again, trying to focus on Jason. "Littlewing? What's situation? Where's Batman?"

"In the cave, probably," Jason said, not in the mood to play Nightwing and Robin. He pulled the glove off his free hand with his teeth and felt, with the back of his hand, Dick's forehead. "You're freezing."

"Don't feel cold. Is Mr Freeze about?" He tried sitting up, but his arms couldn't support his weight. He fell back down. "M'tired."

"Come on." Jason lifted Dick in his arms. He carried him into the small bedroom. A double mattress lay on the floor with the sheets unmade and screwed up in the middle. Dirty clothes covered the floor and beneath them the floor was uncarpeted and dusty. "Jesus Christ, Dick."

"What?"

"Your room. You want to give Al a heart attack?"

"I'll tidy it tomorrow Bruce."

Now he was Bruce? Great. He kicked away the clothes beneath his feet, wanting to make sure there were no needles underneath. He placed Dick on the floor, leaning him against the wall.

"Wait there a second."

"'Kay."

Jason went to the bed and toed at the sheets. After finding no needles, he placed the sheets over the mattress. Behind him, Dick was asleep. Jason picked up again and laid him on top of the mattress. Dick opened his eyes.

"Robin, what's going on?"

"Been drugged. You got to sleep it off."

Dick nodded and closed his eyes again. Jason watched him for a while, scared that if he turned away he'd stop breathing. After a while he went back into the main part of the apartment and surveyed the mess. How could a guy who lived under the same roof as Alfred Pennyworth live in such squalor? Jason apartment was nowhere near as pristine as Wayne Manor, but at least he had the decency to clean up after himself. Did Dick just not care about anything anymore?

Jason went to the kitchen, his nose wrinkling at the smell, and found, in the cupboard under the sink, trash bags. He opened one up and in it put in anything that was rotten or mouldy. The bag filled up and he tore another free from the roll. He went to the fridge. There wasn't much food in there and all of it was past its sell by date. Jason chucked all of it into the bag as well, apart from the empty butter container, which he decided would come in useful. There were dishes on the side, but no washing up liquid. That would be something to sort out later, for now Jason went into the living room with the roll of trash bags and the empty butter container. He tidied up in there, collecting the empty bottles and emptying the ashtray. Putting his gloves back on, he carefully picked up the used needles and put them in the plastic container. It wasn't the best way to get rid of them, but for the time being it was the safest. He found Dick's stash, hidden away in a drawer of a broken cabinet, but left that where it was.

Four trash bags were filled. The garbage shoot was broken, so Jason had to carry them out to the dumpster. Instead of going straight back inside he headed towards a shop he knew was open twenty-four hours. He picked up supplies, hoping that Dickie would be fucking appreciative.


	2. Hypocrisy

Warning: mentions of sexual situations. A similar situation concerning a child is also implied through dialogue.

Hypocrisy

He awoke from usual dreams of memories of crowbars and coffins and life on the streets. After he had finished cleaning, he collapsed onto Dick's lumpy sofa, too tired to get home. The apartment still looked like a dump, but it was no longer littered with rubbish and it smelled a lot better. He sat up, feeling his back click, aching after the night on the sofa. Dick was up and going through the drawer of the broken cabinet, checking on his stash.

"It's all there," Jason said making Dick jump.

"What?" he asked, turning around.

"I didn't throw any of it away."

"Why not?"

"Didn't see the point." He stretched. "How are you feeling?"

Dick shrugged. He looked around the apartment. "Why'd you do this?"

"Someone had to."

"Thanks." He closed the drawer. There was a tremor in his hand. "I didn't think you like me."

"I don't." He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time. It was almost midday. "And, if you ever call me Robin _or_ Bruce again, I'll have to kill you."

"I called you Bruce?"

"Yeah, you were probably too high to remember, but it was right before I put you to bed."

"Jay, I… Sorry."

"Doesn't matter. I saw him last night, him and the birds."

Dick froze. "Did you…?"

"I didn't say anything. They were having their ass handed to them by Dent, so I stepped in."

"And saved the day. Is that why you're here?"

Jason shrugged. Dick was still as perceptive as ever. "Sort of."

"How are they?"

"I don't know. I don't speak to them."

"Fine, but from what you've seen how are they? Like little Damian?"

"Demon like."

"Timmy?"

"Replacement like."

"Bruce?"

"Bruce like."

"So they're all right?"

"If you're so worried, go find out yourself."

"I can't."

"Fuck off."

"Jay –"

"No, listen," Jason said, getting up, stalking over to Dick so he was standing over him. "When you left I had the Bat and the Birds descend on me, accusing me of having something to do with your disappearance. I thought Bruce was going to kill me. See, he wouldn't kill for me, but he would kill for you. Hell, all of them will kill for you and you know that. That's the worst part, you know, you care, but you're not going to do anything about it."

Dick looked away. He was holding his hands, trying, in vain, to stop the shakes. "I'm sorry."

"I know." He stepped away, taking a deep breath. "I bought food. You hungry?"

"No." Dick glanced towards the drawer.

"You want to, er…?" He glanced over at the broken cabinet.

"…Yes, but I'll try to eat something."

"Good."

Jason led Dick into the kitchen. Dick looked at the clean sides and the lack of dirty dishes. He looked at Jason.

"Did you clean everywhere?"

"Alfred trained me well. I even replaced the light in the bathroom."

"Why?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. Look Jay, this is…"

"This is what?"

"Nice," he said with a sigh. "No-one's nice to me anymore."

"And whose fault is that?"

Dick scratched the back of his neck. On the side beside him was a packet of tobacco and rolling paper. He picked it up and began rolling a cigarette.

"No filter tips?" Jason asked, pulling bread out of the cupboard.

"Can't afford them. You want one?"

"Nah, cutting down."

"Suit yourself." He searched the counter, but couldn't find something. "Got a light?"

Jason pulled his Zippo lighter from his jeans pocket and handed it to Dick. Dick lit with skilled ease. Jason shook his head. "And all those bullshit lectures you used to give me."

Dick exhaled a breath of smoke. "I'm a hypocrite, all right?"

"Finally admitting it then," Jason said, savouring the taste of the smoke.

"What do you mean 'finally'?"

Jason shrugged and pulled his own cigarette packet from his pocket. He placed the cigarette in his mouth and held his hand out for his lighter.

Dick handed it to him. "I thought you were cutting down?"

"Guess we're all hypocrites." He lit the cigarette. "So what do you want to eat? I got a lot of stuff, including that sugary cereal crap you like."

"Just toast with some butter."

"Wow Richard that's really pushing the boat out."

They ate breakfast in silence. Dick sat in his chair, breaking his single slice of toast into tiny pieces and eating little. A cup of black coffee was going cold by his feet. Jason, having had the same as Dick, had finished eating and was sipping at the lukewarm dregs at the bottom.

"Jay?" Dick had pushed his away from him so it balanced on his knees.

"What?"

"What happened last night? I don't remember."

"I found you there with a needle in your arm. I took it out of you and put you to bed."

"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have –"

"It's nothing."

"But –"

"Look, you stop getting phased by that shit when you see it happen to your own mother. Just be thankful it was me and not like, I don't know, the Replacement."

"Jason, your step-mother, I totally forgot."

"Mother."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Dick winced. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and rocked forward. He glanced towards the drawer. His tremor intensified.

"When are you planning on leaving?"

"Why? Got plans Dick?"

"Richard and yes."

Jason put his plate on the floor and, pulling on his jacket, stood. "Well then don't let me keep you."

He started towards the front door going a bit slower than his usual gait. Dick, after all, still needed to ask him for something.

"Jason."

Jason stopped. He turned to Dick, crossing his arms as he spoke. "You're wanting money again?"

"That desperate, huh?" he said, scratching the scabs on the inside of his arm.

Jason pulled out his wallet from his jacket pocket. "I've got money." Dick took a step forward. Jason, having planned this, held his wallet tight to his chest, "but you've got to prove something first."

"Jay…"

"You know how you said you'd do anything?"

"Forget about that." Dick took another step towards him, hands held out.

"No, I want to see if you will do anything."

"Don't be an asshole, I –"

"Do a handstand."

Dick stopped. "What?"

"A handstand." He checked the contents of his wallet. "There's fifty bucks in here. Do a handstand and you'll get it."

"Why a handstand?"

"Because _Richard_, I bet that you could walk on your hands before you could walk normally and, looking at you now, I just don't think you can do one anymore."

"I can."

"Prove it then. Come on, you said you'll do anything."

"Jason, I –"

"Fifty bucks. Think of what you can buy with it."

Dick bit his lip. He eyed Jason's wallet for another minute before turning around. He lifted his arms above his head. His right left leg lifted and then swung backwards. The momentum threw his body forward. His hands touched the floor and he lifted his other leg. His arms shook. He managed to take his weight for a moment before collapsing on the floor.

"Dick?"

Jason ran to him. Dick rolled onto his stomach, his face pressed into his arms. Violent shakes travelled through his body and Jason could hear his quiet sobs. Jason lifted him up and cradled Dick's head against his chest. Dick grabbed his arm in a grip that was far stronger than he looked.

"I'm sorry," Jason said. "It's all right."

"I can do," Dick said after a couple of minutes. "I just can't concentrate at the moment."

"Yeah?" Jason said slipping money into the pockets of Dick's sweats without Dick noticing.

"Just need focus. I'll be fine."

Dick continued crying and shaking. Jason stroked his hair, rocking him and shushing him.

.

It had been a week since he had seen Dick. He wanted to go back, but he kept seeing Dick failing at the handstand. Dick's acrobatic skills were legendary amongst the family as it was something he could do better than Batman. To see a Flying Grayson fail at it was disturbing, leaving Jason, a boy once committed to bettering Dick at everything, obsessing. It, as well as his worsening nightmares, was keeping him up and making him picture the worse. Running into the Bat and Birds on his patrol wasn't helping either.

By the end of the week, he was so frustrated that he was close to shooting himself.

On his current patrol he didn't choose to specifically to go after dealers; it just felt like the natural thing to do. He found them on street corners, selling to misguided youths and the knowing older ones too lost to change their ways. The Red Hood didn't kill them, but he did fire bullets into their feet.

Near the end of his patrol, swinging from the buildings of Crime Alley he saw something that made him want to change from the crippling shots to kill shots.

There were two dealers, dressed in dark sweatshirts with hoods that concealed their faces. They stood together in the shadows, laughing at the skinny dark hair man standing before them. It didn't take a genius to work out that the skinny guy was Dick. The bigger of the two men standing in the shadows, beckoned Dick forwards. Dick did so and knelt before the man. It was all Red Hood needed to see. He took aim and fired, shooting the man in the head before Dick could touch him. He fired his grappling hook and landed beside them before the second man could pull out his gun.

"I wouldn't if I were you," Red Hood said, pointing his gun at the man's head.

The man held up his hands in surrender. "What seems to the problem?"

Dick, still on his knees, watched Jason with a blank expression.

"I've got a problem with what you and your former associate are doing," Jason said, stalking towards the man.

"Taking payment?"

"How is watching your now dead friend getting a blowjob a form of payment? I don't see much profit in it."

"Why do you care Hood?"

"I control the Gotham drug trade. I get the profits from it. You don't make money, I don't make money. So you can probably see why I care when you're seeking pleasure from a drug addled whore as a form of payment."

"Look, it won't happen again," said the man.

"I know," Jason said as he shot the man in the head. He put away his gun as the man fell to the floor, dead.

"Pleasure from a drug addled whore?" Dick said before shrugging. "I've been called worse."

Jason grabbed Dick by his sweatshirt and threw him against the wall. "What the fuck are you doing?" he asked.

"What, how else do you think I fund this glamorous lifestyle?" His head lolled to the side. The whites of his eyes were red and the pupils were tiny, making the blue irises stand out bright.

"I thought you were better than this."

"Yeah, but when you don't have a job, you got to make money some way." He tried to loosen Jason's hold on his shirt, but when he couldn't break free, he rested his hands over Jason's. "Besides we're back to that old hypocrisy thing again."

"What are you on about?"

"You did this too, once upon time."

"No, I –"

"Come on Jay, why else did you react so violently when I said I'd do anything? You've been just as desperate, just as –"

Jason pushed Dick harder against the wall. He leaned in close enough that his helmet touched Dick's cheek. "I was a hungry child. I had no other choice. You have a choice."

"What surrender my pride, salvage my dignity and ask Bruce for help?"

"It's better than this."

"Says the boy who chose to get fucked by strangers rather than sucking in his pride and going into ca–"

Jason punched him in the face. Dick's head collided with wall and he slid to the ground. He wiped away some of the blood pouring from his nose and laughed.

"Ah, you don't like what you hear so you resort to violence. Classic Jaybird."

"Go fuck yourself and anyone else for that matter because I don't care." He turned and started walking away.

"See you soon Jay."

He stuck his middle finger up at Dick as he carried on walking.


	3. Goodbye

Goodbye

The panic attacks had started again. He used to suffer from them a lot as a child, starting after he moved into the manor and for a short time after the Pit. When they started happening, he tried to hide it from Bruce and Alfred, not fully trusting them yet. It was only after a particularly bad incident, when Bruce had found him, curled up on his bed and hyperventilating. Bruce sat on the edge of the bed, not touching him, telling him to breathe in and out, and then, once his breathing had calmed, would just talk to him about nothing. After that he became more comfortable talking to Bruce, feeling safer that he had found a person he could trust and found that the panic attacks began to subside.

That had all gone to shit when he died. Being what was a mindless zombie, he hadn't suffered from panic attacks. After Talia pushed in him the Lazarus Pit and the memory of all his traumas – the streets, his death, the coffin – returned, the panic attacks started again and there was no Bruce with him this time. He had learnt to deal with them on his own and they had gradually gotten better over time. Being the Red Hood helped. And then Dick-fucking-Grayson happened. Seeing Dick kneeling in front of those men had brought back the memories. He had spent the last two days in his apartment, not wanting to go out, scared that if he did, he would suffer an attack. Having an attack would prove fatal in his line of work.

He was pissed off at Dick, but knew that his cruelty and his careless disregard of … anything was down to the drugs, the need, the desperation. The clean, sober Dick Grayson would have never said those things. The clean, sober Dick Grayson had been a vigilante who sometimes had a quick temper, but for the most parts he was a loveable moron. Jason wanted the loveable moron back.

He sat on the sofa in his flat, staring at his cell phone that lay on the countertop. He knew the number for the manor. Bruce hadn't changed it since Dick's disappearance in the hopes that Dick would call. Jason could call the number now, tell them where Dick was and let it be the end of it. He could get his life back and forget his problems. Although getting the Bat wouldn't help. Bruce would force Dick to get clean, would lock him in a room and make him go cold turkey, but that wouldn't help him. He had to get clean mentally as well as physically – he had to want to get clean.

Groaning, Jason got up, pocketed his phone. Dick wasn't going to get help, but Jason beating the crap out of him would certainly help himself.

.

He climbed up to the bathroom window of Dick's apartment. The light was on and Dick stood in front of the bathroom pressing a damp cloth against his bruised and bloody face.

"Shit Dick, what happened?" Jason asked, forgetting the reason he came as he climbed through the window.

Dick jumped, but then became impassive, keeping his features neutral. "I thought you didn't care?"

"What happened?" He moved forward, wanting to touch the cut on Dick's forehead, but stopped when Dick flinched.

"The broken nose and the black eyes were from you. Everything else was, well, I owed money and paid for it with a beating."

Jason grabbed Dick's arm and guided him towards the bathtub, ignoring the way his body jerked in protest at the touch. He made Dick sit on the edge of the tub, noticing as Dick flinched at the movement. Kneeling on the floor beside him, Jason took the cloth and started cleaning the cuts.

"Sorry I said what I said," Dick said. "I wasn't thinking straight."

"Sorry I punched you."

"I deserved it."

Jason grunted. He moved to the sink, turning on the cold tap and running the cloth beneath it.

"What are you doing here anyway?"

"To beat you up."

"You know what that means, right?"

"Shut up." He turned back to Dick, wet cloth in hand."How much does it hurt?"

Dick shrugged. "I have some great pain relief."

"Better than the stuff in the Cave?"

"Yeah."

"Do you have a first aid kit anywhere?"

"Nah, don't need that anymore seeing as I no longer wear the suit."

"And why's that? What actually happened to you?"

"What do you know?"

"That you were captured during patrol. Bruce found the people that took you a couple of months later, but they had killed themselves."

"They're dead?"

"According to Tim," Jason said, causing to Dick to raise his eyebrows in surprise. "He told me when he came to apologise for thinking I had something to do with it."

"Did you hurt him?"

"Obviously, he's the Replacement, now come on, what happened?"

"What did you do to Tim?"

"Nice to see you're still the protective older brother."

"Jason…"

"I punched him a couple of times and threatened to throw him off the top of Wayne Tower, now what happened to you?"

Dick sighed. "It was two people who took me – a man and a woman – I think they were lovers, but anyway they took me just to destroy me, but not kill me. I don't know how they had me for; I just know that they kept injecting me with heroin and yeah…" He scratched the scabs on his arm. "When they let me go, they said that I had a choice – go home or, well I guess you know what I chose."

Jason wanted to call him an idiot, tell him he was stupid, but that wouldn't help. Instead he pulled Dick into a hug. Dick stiffened, but then rested his forehead against Jason's shoulder and let out a deep breath.

"You think I'm an idiot?"

"I've always thought you're an idiot."

"You want me to get help?"

"Do you want to get help?"

"I don't know what I want."

"You want to go home."

"Yeah…"

"Then call Bruce."

"No." Dick pushed Jason away. "I can't. You can't. Please don't."

"I'm not going to."

"Yes you are."

"Don't be so paranoid. I'm not going to tell Bruce. That would involve talking to him."

Dick nodded. He wrapped his arms around himself. "Sorry."

"Yeah, I know." Jason stood up. "Anywhere else hurt?"

"No."

Jason prodded Dick on his right side, in his ribs, causing him to flinch. "Okay, so sore ribs. Anything else?"

"Just drop it, all right."

"Fine. You hungry?"

"No." Dick rubbed his bruised ribs and looked down.

Jason studied the way Dick's clothes hung off him. It was odd seeing a man who was once Batman look so tiny. "When was the last time you ate?"

Dick sighed. "Jason, can you go?"

"What?"

"Go, please."

"You all right?"

"I'm tired."

"Fine, I'll come round tomorrow."

"Don't."

"Why not?"

"It's just, I don't want this, I…" He rested his head in his hands. "You've done something like this before. You don't deserve to do it again."

"I don't care. You're my, well, you're my brother."

"Not your real brother."

Jason shrugged. "My mom wasn't my real mom."

"Jay, just go, please."

"Fine, but I _will_ see you tomorrow."

"What if I'm not here?" Dick kept his face neutral for a second and then smiled.

"You're going to leave?" Jason said smiling. Dick didn't look like he was up to moving apartment.

"Romani circus kid, remember. Staying in one place for too long is weird."

Jason rolled his eyes. "See you tomorrow Dick."

"… Richard."

.

Jason sat, smoking, on top of a building with his feet dangling over the edge. In the distance he saw Gotham Docks. He watched the boats arrive and leave, wondering which ones were smuggling contraband items. He leant back, lying on the roof, staring up at the sky. It was an old pastime of his, from his time on the streets, trying to find images in the light pollution. Sometimes, like tonight, when there was a star (or satellite) out, he liked to challenge himself and include the star in the images. Tonight though, Jason couldn't see any images as he couldn't stop thinking of Dick.

He could understand where the idiot was coming from, but that didn't mean he had to listen to him. Dick needed help whether he wanted it or not. Jason saw it as payback from all the times Dick tried to get Jason help during his all 'I'm-pissed-off-and-going-to-kill-everybody' phase. It was strange that they lived in a world where Dick needed more help than Jason, but then stranger things had happened.

He didn't believe that Dick would leave. The guy couldn't clean up after himself, let alone pack up his apartment. He wouldn't be able to get another apartment. How he managed to afford his current apartment was anybody's horrific guess. Jason would see Dick again tomorrow and Goldie was just going to have to live with that. Jason had learnt that it was impossible to get rid of the 'family', no matter how many times he tied to say 'goodbye'.

Say goodbye…

Jason sat up, dropping his cigarette. "Oh shit."

He got up and ran back towards Dick's apartment.

Instead of the window, he kicked the door down.

"Dick! Richard! You hear me?"

He ran deeper into the flat and found Dick sitting slumped in his chair. A zip tie was secured tight around his left bicep. Held loose in his other hand was a syringe. Jason ran over to him and shook him.

"Dick, you hear me? Come on Dick, don't do this. You can't be this stupid."

Dick's breathing was shallow and his lips were turning blue. Jason pressed his fingers against Dick's neck, feeling for a pulse and finding it too low. This wasn't good. Jason rubbed his knuckles against Dick's chest, but Dick didn't respond.

"Fuck fuck fuck," Jason said pulling his phone from his pocket and calling 911.


	4. Paternal

Paternal

Jason held his jacket tight around him as he dialled the number for the manor. A cigarette hung from his mouth. He kept glancing inside, into the waiting room in case one of the doctors came back. Dick had stopped breathing in the ambulance. When they arrived at the hospital, he had been wheeled away with the doctors and paramedics trying to force air into his lungs. Jason had been forced to stay in the waiting room and that was when he gave in and decided to call Bruce. Dick may die. If he did, Bruce deserved the chance to say goodbye. He wasn't given that chance the last time one of his sons died.

"Wayne residence," Alfred said picking up after the third ring.

"Al, it's me. Is Bruce about?"

"Master Jason, this is a surprise. What is the –"

"I need to talk to Bruce," Jason said feeling guilty for interrupting Alfred. "It's about Dick."

There was silence on the other end of line for a moment, before Alfred spoke. "He's in the cave. I'll transfer you over."

"Thanks Alfred."

He waited for a moment while he kept glancing towards the waiting room. What was taking so long?

"Jason," said Bruce using his Batman voice. "What do you know? Where is he?"

"Gotham hospital."

"Why?"

"Heroin overdose."

"Heroin?"

Jason sighed. "He's addicted to it. That's where he's been."

"Is… is he all right?"

"I don't know. The doctor's took him away and I haven't heard anything."

"I'm on my way. Stay there."

"Fine," he said making it sound as if it was a chore. Even in life or death situations he couldn't put his disdain for Bruce behind him.

Jason hung up. He dropped his cigarette onto the floor and crushed it beneath his boot. He went back into the waiting room and collapsed on one of the cushioned, but hard chairs. It had been a long night. He lifted his feet onto the chair and rested his forehead against his knees. He needed sleep. A long one. Without nightmares would be good.

.

"Jason," said a familiar voice as a hand on his bicep shook him awake. Jason smacked the arm away. The hand grabbed his arm again and shook him, repeating his name.

"Go away."

"Jason, wake up."

Jason opened his eyes. Bruce sat on the chair beside him. They were in the hospital waiting room. Opposite them were a man and a boy – father and son. The boy was asleep, his head resting in his father's lap with a heavy coat over him. The father was watching them, well the famous Bruce Wayne. Jason glared at him and the man looked away.

"Jason."

"What?" He turned around to look at his former mentor.

"Have you heard anything?"

"No." He stretched, lifting his arms above his head. "You just get here?"

"Yes, well I spoke to reception first, but they couldn't tell me much. Are you all right?"

"Fine. The best."

"What's happened?"

"It's a long story." He looked around the waiting room, realising they were missing something. "Where're the 'brothers'?"

"In bed. They were tired and I didn't want to wake them. Alfred will bring them over in the morning."

"I bet they'll love that."

"You changed the topic. What happened to Dick?"

"When he… disappeared," Jason said, careful of what he said as the father opposite was still watching them. "When he went, the … people with him got him into it. It got him stuck and he couldn't ask for help."

"He couldn't ask? Why didn't he think he could ask for help?"

"Because he couldn't. Ask him yourself when you get the chance."

"How bad is it?"

"He can't do a handstand." He thought to maybe to leave out the part about the prostitution. The fact that an acrobat couldn't do a handstand would be horrifying enough for Bruce, let alone knowing that perfect boy was selling his perfect body. Judging by Bruce's reaction, what he said was bad enough.

"How long have you known?"

"A while. He asked me not to tell, so I didn't."

"Why not?"

"You should know by now that I'm not good at the whole hindsight thing."

"Is there anything else?"

Jason sighed. "I think tonight was done on purpose."

"What?"

"I think OD'd on purpose."

"You think he tried to…?"

"I don't know. That was what I think he was implying."

"You should have told me sooner," Bruce said, his voice getting deeper, more Bat like.

"I wanted Dick to tell you."

One of the doctors entered the waiting and headed towards them. Both Jason and Bruce stood up.

"Mr Haywood," he said to Jason. Jason nodded, as much as he hated to use his birth mother's name, Jason Todd was a wanted to criminal and he really didn't want to get arrested again. Bruce said nothing as the doctor turned to him. "Mr Wayne."

"How is he?" Bruce asked.

"He'll live. He's still unconscious, but stable. He should stay in for a couple of days for observation. Also, I'll give you some leaflets on some rehabilitation centres, but you have to understand that you can't make him go."

"We understand," Jason said before Bruce could say anything. Dick wouldn't go to rehab, but there was no way in hell he'll be able to avoid a lengthy stay at Wayne manor.

"We've treated his injuries, so need to worry there," the doctor said. Bruce turned to Jason, eyebrows raised, questioning. Jason shrugged and turned back to the doctor. "Also, we want to run a few tests, but we'll do that when he's awake."

"What sort of tests?"

Jason rolled his eyes. Sometimes the Batman could be very naïve.

"Just to make sure he hasn't picked up any infections."

"Oh."

"Can we see him?" Jason asked.

.

Bruce sat in the chair beside Dick's bed. He listened to the steady rhythm of heart rate monitor; the only indicator that Dick was alive. When he first saw Dick, he thought the doctor had led them into the wrong room because there was no way that the skinny, pale man lying still on the bed was his son. Dick wouldn't have track marks and puncture wounds going up and down his arms. It just couldn't be possible. He turned to question the doctor, but stopped when Jason walked past him and sat on the chair beside the window. He looked at Bruce, then at the man on the bed and then nodded. Bruce looked at the man again and recognised it was his son.

They sat in silence. Bruce stroked Dick's hair and held his hand, wishing for him to wake-up. Jason said nothing. Bruce realised that, since Jason had come back, it had been the longest they had been around one another without arguing and/or Jason trying to kill him. Despite the situation, it had been sort of nice.

Behind him, he heard the sound of whimpering. Turning, he saw Jason sleeping curled up in the chair, his head resting against the armrest. The position couldn't be comfortable, but his upbringing had given him the ability to sleep just about anywhere. He whimpered again and twisted in the chair. Ever since Bruce had known him, he knew Jason suffered from nightmares. Some days, when he was Robin, Bruce or Alfred would find him in the cave, sleeping curled up in the passenger side of the Batmobile. When he was woken, he would mumble something about feeling safer there.

He whimpered again. Bruce took off his jacket and draped it over Jason. He ran his hand through Jason's hair and murmured, "It's me Jay. I'm here. You're safe." It was the words he used whenever Jason had a nightmare as a child. It always relaxed him as it did now. Bruce kept his hand in Jason's hair and with his other hand, held Dick's. His two lost, wayward sons were here, right now. Dick and Jason were here; Tim and Damian were home in bed. It was rare that he knew where all his sons were at any given moment. It was something he could get used to.

Dick stirred. Bruce moved away from Jason. Bruce gave Dick's hand a squeeze.

"Dick?"

Behind him Jason stirred as he woke. Dick's eyes fluttered open and he looked around the room. He saw Bruce and frowned.

"Bruce, wh-what you doing here?"

"Dickie-bird, you're awake," Jason said before Bruce could speak.

"You told him."

Jason dumped the jacket on Bruce's lap. "I thought you were going to die, of course I told him."

"It's good to see you," Bruce said.

"I don't … want you to see me." He tried hiding his arms beneath his blankets, but the IV stopped it from happening.

"Dick –"

"Richard."

"What?"

"He goes by Richard now apparently," said Jason. "Although I think, once a Dick, always a Dick."

"Shut up Jay."

"How are you feeling?" Bruce asked Dick.

Dick didn't answer. He turned on his side away from them. His limbs were shaking and he held on tight to the blankets.

"Dick –"

"Leave me alone."

"Richard –"

"Bruce, go. Please."

"No, I'm –" He glanced at Jason and thought of the rest of the family "– We're going to help you."

"You can't."

"We can. You can get better."

"Bruce…" Dick said, close to tears.

Bruce went to speak, but stopped when Jason grabbed his arm. He pulled away when Bruce looked at him and mouthed, "Don't force him." Bruce nodded.

"Di- Richard, get some sleep. We'll talk more a little later."

"I don't want to talk."

"Whatever." Jason stood up and walked towards the door. "I need to stretch my legs," he said. "Talk to you later Dickie."

When he was gone, Dick rolled back onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling, focusing on the light fitting. He looked at Bruce and then back at the ceiling.

"Did you really blame him?"

"Blame?"

"Jason. When I 'disappeared', did you really blame him?"

"Yes, but it was a difficult time. I wasn't –"

"Did you apologise?"

Bruce shook his head. He hadn't had the chance to apologise. Tim had, but had returned home covered in blood and bruises. After that Jason had avoided them and, apart from the incident with Dent about a week ago, tonight was the first night that Bruce had any contact with Jason in months.

"Why not?"

"Because we couldn't find him."

"Tim did. You were just avoiding him."

"I thought you were dead. I couldn't see Jason."

"Would you have thought it was better if I had died?"

"What?"

"Being dead is better than this."

"Don't say that. Ever. You can get better."

"How can you say that?"

"Because other people have. Think of Roy."

"I'm not strong enough."

"Yes, you are –"

"I knew I took too much earlier."

"What?" Bruce asked. Jason said he suspected that was what happened, but Bruce couldn't believe it. Dick wouldn't do something like that.

"I can't live like this."

"Don't say that." Bruce rubbed his eyes that had become itchy. "You will get better. When you're strong enough, you'll come home to the manor and we'll get through it together."

Dick shook his head. He turned away, hiding the tears falling down his face. Bruce reached out and stroked his hair. Dick shuddered at the touch, but leant into it. A moment later, Bruce had him in his arms as Dick sobbed into his chest. Dick was too skinny, even smaller than Damian. He shivered in Bruce's arms and clung to him, refusing to let go. Bruce held him until he fell asleep.

.

Jason punched the coffee machine. He put his quarter in the machine again, but, as it had the last couple of times, the coin fell into change slot at the bottom.

"Fuck's sake." He slammed the flat of his hand against the side, startling a passing by nurse.

"Jason."

He turned around, seeing Bruce heading towards him. The man's face was blotchy and his eyes were red; he had been crying. Jason had never seen him cry before. People said it was weird for Batman to laugh, but it was even weirder to see him cry. It made Jason wonder whether Bruce cried when he died.

"What's going on?" he asked, nodding towards the machine.

"Won't except my quarter." He tried the coin again, but, again, it failed. "Fuck it."

"Here," Bruce said, reaching into his back pocket and picking up his wallet. He pulled out a dollar and held it out to Jason. Jason took it and, this time, the machine accepted it.

"How's Dick?" Jason asked, as he pressed in the code for a black coffee.

"Asleep."

"Good."

"You should get some sleep too."

"_You_ should get some sleep," Jason said, knowing that Bruce's sleeping habits were worse than his. Besides, last time he had fallen asleep he had woken up beneath Bruce's jacket; it had unnerved him by how comforting that had been.

"I know how you feel about this."

"The fuck you know about it."

"Your mother."

Jason picked up his plastic cup of coffee and focused on the liquid. Of course Bruce knew and Jason couldn't even yell at him for not saying step-mother.

"She wasn't my mother."

"You still went through it."

"Just shut up about it." He sipped the coffee; it's lukewarm so he drank a larger mouthful.

Bruce checked his watch. "The others will be here soon."

Jason finished his drink. "I guess that's my cue to leave."

"You can stay."

"Nah, you're right, I should get some sleep." He yawned to prove the point. "Besides, this is gonna be hard enough for the birds without me being here."

"Jason –"

"I'll be back. I'll swing by Dick's apartment; pick up some things for him."

Bruce nodded. Jason turned to walk away. He was pleased with himself; he had spent over an hour with Bruce without getting in a fight (although it probably helped he had been asleep for a part of it). That had to be record for them. Perhaps he could use it against Dick; if he could do the impossible and be civil around Bruce, Dick could do the possible and get clean. Although when he got halfway down the corridor his mood changed when Bruce spoke. "Jay?" Jason froze. His hands tightened into a fist and he gritted his teeth. The nickname should not make him freeze up. Dick called him Jay all the time and it didn't affect him, but with Bruce it just reminded him of the time _before_. He didn't want to be reminded of the time before, but didn't want to start the argument now, so he took a deep, calming breath. He turned his head to face Bruce.

"What?"

"Thank you and I'm sorry, you know, about before."

Jason grunted and walked off.


	5. Home

Home

He slept longer than he planned. The stress of the days had knocked him out, causing him to sleep through his nightmares. When he woke up, he could still remember the dreams, but he still felt better. Remembering what he said to Bruce, he got up and dressed. Guessing that Dick didn't have anything to carry his clothes in, he picked up his old sports bag – the one he used to carry his helmet and his spare domino mask whenever he was out as himself and the Red Hood was needed. He didn't want to do this, but he didn't think it was fair to subject the others to Dick's apartment.

Oh fuck, he was beginning to care. Dick better get clean or else he was going to put a bullet in the bastard's brain.

As he headed towards his car, he caught sight of a flash of red. This would make it interesting. He doubted Stalker Robin had ever seen a place like Dickie's, so it would be an education for him. It would teach the kid to stop following him.

He drove to Dick's, glancing in the mirrors as he caught sights of Tim, dressed in civilian clothes, following. Jason drove slowly, wanting the kid to catch up with him. When he was a block away from Dick's apartment, he stopped. This neighbourhood was safer than Dick's one, so the chances of his car being stolen was low. Batman was dumb enough to get his wheels stolen by a kid, but Jason wasn't. He got out his car and leant the door. He couldn't see Tim, but knew he was about.

"Once a stalker always a stalker, right Babybird?" he called out. Tim didn't get out of his hiding place. "I know you're there. What do you want?"

Tim appeared next to him. Jason did a double take. Jesus Christ that kid was worse than Batman.

"Warn a guy, seriously," Jason said, placing a hand over his heart. "Fuck."

"Hi."

"What do you want?"

"Dick sort of discharged himself."

"What?"

"He didn't get far. Alfred found him and managed to persuade him to come back to the manor."

"He's going to get clean?"

"He says he's can't, but…"

"… but Bruce and Alfred are Bruce and Alfred. Why are you here anyway?"

"Bruce said you're getting stuff and didn't want you to turn up at the hospital with no one there."

"That sounds quite nice actually."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah. How is the bastard?"

"Which one?"

Jason stopped himself from laughing. That was almost witty for the kid, but laughing at him would give him the impression he liked him and that couldn't happen.

"Dick, you dick."

"Bad, worse than I thought."

"What were you expecting? He's a fucking drug addict."

"Damian wouldn't even look at him."

"Yeah, well Dick is to him what Bruce is to you. Sort of. Plus his anger issues are –"

"Almost as bad as yours."

"Fuck off."

"He'll get better, won't he?"

"It'll depend on him."

Tim looked at Jason and then at the floor. The kid was nervous. Jason didn't blame him. After all Jason had tried to kill him on numerous occasions. Tim scratched the back of his neck as he looked back at Jason.

"You saved his life."

"You sound surprised."

"You went through a stage of trying to kill all of us. What's changed?"

Jason ignored the question, not knowing the answer himself. He picked up the sports bad and headed in the direction of Dick's apartment. As he predicted, Tim followed.

"He will get better. You know that right?" Tim said, jogging to keep up with Jason.

"I don't care."

"Of course you don't, that's why you're helping."

Jason gritted his teeth, time to change the subject. "Why are you following me?"

"I want to see where he lived."

"Why?"

"To understand, I guess."

"Fine, but I'll doubt you'll like it."

Dick's building was the most decrepit building on the block. In a couple of months, Jason guessed that will the whole place would be condemned. Half the apartments in it were abandoned and most of the ones with tenants were without electricity and water. Dick had power and Jason hoped that he got that through illegal Bat-trained means and not paying for it with money got from 'other' means.

"That's where Dick's been living?" Tim asked.

"Yep."

"In there?"

"Yep. Ground floor, far …" He trailed off, noticing something was off.

"What is it?"

"The kitchen light is on."

"And?"

"It wasn't when we left."

"Friendly?"

"Doubt it." He looked at Tim. "You want to check it out?"

Not waiting for an answer, he ran into the building. He crept down the corridor, heading towards Dick's apartment. The front door was open, allowing the sound of voices inside to travel down the corridor outside. Jason stopped, holding his hand up, signalling the Stalker Robin to stop as well.

"… ain't here, all right? Can we go?"

"Not yet."

"Apparently some guy was carted off in an ambulance yesterday. Could have been him?"

"Might not of either."

"Heard he got the Red Hood protecting him."

"The Red Hood cares about nobody, but himself."

Jason looked at Tim, giving him his best 'I-told-you-so' look. Tim just his rolled his eyes and then mouthed, "What did you do?"

"Ask Dick," he mouthed back. He pulled his helmet out his bag. After a moment, he handed Tim the domino mask. "Pretend you work for me."

"Are you going to kill?"

"Dunno. Here." He handed Tim a gun. "Don't have to use it, just make it convincing."

"Jason –"

He grinned as he put his helmet on. "Just follow my league, _Little Red_."

As inspired as he was by Tim's alias, the muffled groan behind him indicated that 'Little Red' was less than pleased. Tough luck, it was his sidekick, he got to choose the name.

He walked into Dick's apartment, gun drawn, causing the two men in Dick's living room to jump. There was nothing intimidating about them, despite them puffing out their chests and reaching for their guns.

"I wouldn't," Jason said. "We don't want to make a mess now."

The men stopped reaching for their guns. The smaller of the two said, "What are you going to do? There's more of us."

"As if that makes a difference. Besides, you're wrong. Right, Little Red?"

"Right." Tim walked into the apartment. "Why, what big losers you found?"

Jason had to stop himself from laughing. He said to make it convincing and the kid had gone and made a character for himself. Tim's face was narrower than Jason's meaning the domino didn't fit right and was bent to fit the contours of his face, making the whole thing funnier. Sometimes he wasn't sure whether he should hate the kid or not.

"All the better to shoot at," Jason said playing along. The situation with Dick had made it almost impossible to have fun. He might as well have fun now when the opportunity presented itself.

"What the fuck is this?" said taller of the two.

"New sidekick," said Tim.

"It's a probation period. Doesn't matter. What does matter is what you two are doing here?"

"We're owed money."

"So am I."

"We was here first."

"And you'll be leaving here first."

"You'll make us?"

Jason looked at Tim, who smirked, then back at the men. "Obviously." His finger brushed against the trigger. "Leave. Now."

The shorter one shrugged. "Fine. We have other people we can take… _payment_ from."

Payment could have meant anything, but the way the man said it caused Jason to interpret it to mean the way Dick currently _paid_ for things. Not thinking, Jason lunged forward, punching the man. The man fell backwards, hitting the wall and sliding to the floor. Jason stood over him, kicking the man repeatedly. Tim yelled at him and tried to pull him away; Jason pushed him off and continued the attack. The other man was yelling, but Jason ignored him as well. He had to hurt the man – for Dick and for himself, but he would never admit to either of them.

A gunshot sounded throughout the apartment. Jason stopped his attack. The only sound in the room was the resounding echoes of gunshot. He looked around. The other man was aiming his gun at him, but a quick glance down reassured him he hadn't been shot. He looked behind him. Tim held the gun Jason gave him, pointing it a few feet left of the other man, where behind him, was a bullet hole in the wall.

"Lower your gun," Tim said, his voice shaking slightly. "Or next time it'll be you."

The man lowered his gun. Jason picked up the man's semi-conscious, bleeding friend and chucked him out the apartment. His hands were shaking, but he ignored it. He turned to the man, who was putting gun away.

"Take him away," he said, keeping his voice steady, "and don't come back."

The man nodded and ran out. Tim stood in the doorway, watching the man pick up his friend and run down the corridor away from them. Jason leant against the wall, his whole body shaking. Claustrophobia took in, his mask feeling too tight and slowly shrinking. He fingered the releases, trying to get the helmet off. He was in the coffin again and this time he couldn't get out and would die all over again.

"Jason? Jason, can you hear me?" That was Tim's voice.

Jason looked up, seeing Tim loom over him. Since when was Tim taller than him? Had _he _shrunk? On second evaluation, he realised he was on the floor. When did that happen? His breathing was laboured, heavy. Someone grabbed his shoulder and shook him. Jason flinched. His chest was hurting and he sick.

"Jason, it's me," said Tim.

"Get it off me," Jason said, clawing at his helmet again.

Tim released the helmet, pulling it away from Jason's head. Jason drew in a deep breath, tasting the fresh air.

"Just breathe," Tim said. "Slowly, in and out."

Jason followed the instructions, like he did years ago when Bruce would give him the same instructions. He breathed in deep and let the breath out slowly. He heard Tim relay the instruction, which he followed, again and again until he felt calmer. Tim talked at him. He closed his eyes and blocked everything out. When he was younger, he needed the attention, especially from Bruce, but now he needed to be alone. Tim didn't seem to realise.

"Go away," Jason said.

"What?"

"Go and get Dick's stuff or something."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Go." He opened his eyes and looked straight at Tim. Tim took the mask off and stared at him for a moment, before leaving the mask on the floor beside Jason's feet and getting up and going towards Dick's room.

Jason leant his head the wall. The replacement had seen him having a panic attack. Only Bruce, Alfred and Talia had seen him experience them, but they were parental figures (messed up parental figures in the cases of Bruce and Talia), who looked after him and he trusted. He and Tim did not have a good relationship. Tim was a little know-it-all replacement and Jason had tried to kill him on numerous occasions, almost succeeding on some. To have fallen into such a vulnerable state, in front of someone he frequently antagonised, was embarrassing. Tim would be even more unbearable, thinking that Jason was some delicate flower that needed protecting. It would take a lot of work to revaluate the status between them.

Feeling a little calmer, he pulled himself to his feet. He was still shaking, but the tremors weren't as violent. He walked into Dick's room. Tim stood by the edge of the bed, staring at a syringe resting on the crumpled sheets. Beneath the needle, staining the off-white sheets red, were droplets of blood. Tim turned to see Jason enter the room and then looked at the syringe.

"He actually does it, doesn't he?"

"Yes."

"I didn't believe it. Even seeing him, I couldn't believe he could do that to himself."

"I know, but he's going to get better. He's with Bruce and Alfred; he hasn't got a choice."

Tim smiled. He studied Jason. "How are you?"

"We've got a job to do, remember?"

"But –"

"Don't."

Tim nodded, turning away from the syringe and looked around the room. Clothes spread across the floor, tumbling out of the chest of drawers.

"He hasn't got any clean clothes, has he?" Tim asked.

Jason shrugged at Tim's question. "To be fair his apartments have always been this messy."

"Surprising really for a guy who spent the first couple of years of his life constantly on the move where he needed to keep his stuff together."

"I blame Alfred." He picked up a t-shirt from the floor and sniffed it. "It's all right."

"Alfred will probably wash them anyway."

Jason shook his head. "If anyone in this 'family' has superpowers, it's Al."

"Says the guy who came back from the dead," Tim said, picking up a pair of jeans to examine them. "I think he has stuff at the manor, you know?"

"I said I was going to do this, so I'm going to do this."

Tim paused. "Fine."

.

They were both silent for the start of the journey to the manor. Jason almost didn't let Tim in his car, but he decided against it. They were both heading in the same direction and things were already tense enough there without Jason exasperating his grudge against Tim. Jason focused on the road, but was aware that Tim kept glancing at him. Jason guessed it was either to do with the panic attack or the fact it was his first time back at the manor since he died.

"Look, I used to have panic attacks a lot. It's no big deal," he said.

"I wasn't going to say –"

"You were thinking of it. Just forget about it, all right?"

"But –"

"Forget it." He glanced at the kid, noticing he was staring out the window. "You did good earlier."

"He was going to shoot you. I didn't know what else to do."

"Well thanks, I guess."

"Just don't make me hold a gun again."

"Yeah, Little Red is too wimpy for my reputation."

"You came up with it."

Jason shrugged. "What else was I going to call you?"

"You didn't have to call me anything."

Jason didn't reply. In the distance he caught sight of Wayne Manor and slowed down. Now that he was close to the only home he ever felt safe, he struggled to get closer. He couldn't do this; he couldn't go home. It would be exactly the same, but completely the same.

Tim seemed to notice and said, "Jason –"

"Shut up."

"But –"

"Shut up or I'll kick you out the car."

Tim shut up. Jason sped up. When they were half-a-mile from the manor they passed the first news van, quickly followed by other vans.

"Great," said Tim, looking at a van they overtook.

"Billionaire playboy's eldest son's a drug addict."

"A media frenzy."

"Best thing about being dead is you don't get it." He thought about what he said and then turned to Tim. "What was it like when I died?"

"There was media coverage, but I remember hearing about Bruce requesting for privacy out of respect for you."

"Oh." He didn't know what he thought about that – grateful, maybe. "What was my funeral like? I know Dick didn't go."

"I don't want to talk about funerals."

"C'mon, how many guys can ask about their own funeral?"

"Surprisingly, quite a few."

They were silent for after that. The manor was in front of them. News van and paparazzi were on the lawns outside the gates. Cameras flashed at them, but they both ignored them as they headed towards the main gates. Once they were outside Jason sat staring at the callbox. Tim told him the code, but he couldn't enter it. He's been back in the cave, but not in the manor. This was going to be impossible.

"You know," Tim said, "I can get out now if it's too uncomfortable for you."

"Shut up."

"Just–"

"Shut up." He took a deep breath. They were going to force Dick to quit heroin. He can go to his old home. He entered the code. The gates opened. He let the breath out.


	6. Falling

Falling

The dealer grunted and stilled. His lips were against Richard's neck as his breathing calmed. Richard kept his eyes closed and tried to stop his shivering. He didn't breathe as he tried to disappear, to be nothing, to blend into the shadows like the Bat he once was.

He gritted his teeth at the burning pain as the dealer pulled away. He had experienced worst pain, but this hurt more than any injury he had ever come across. The shivering started again as he fell against the alley wall. He felt tears fall down his face and he was cold, so very cold.

"Here," the dealer said, holding out the small clear plastic bag of brown powder.

Richard looked at it, seeing it was less than what was promised. He didn't say anything as he took it. He didn't look at his dealer as he pulled his trousers up and pushed the plastic bag deep into his pockets.

"You look familiar," the dealer said. "You someone famous?"

"No," Richard said. "I have one of those faces."

"Not that face." He stroked Richard's face, causing him to flinch.

"I need to go."

"Come back anytime," the dealer said laughing as Richard limped away.

Back at his apartment, he showered, washing away his sweat and the mess left by the dealer. Afterwards, sitting in his chair he put some of the brown powder in a spoon along with some water. With his cheap lighter, he heated the bottom of the spoon, watching the mixture bubble. He dropped a screwed up piece of cotton wool into the liquid, watching it absorb the mixture. There was a needle on the broken cabinet; it was one he used the day before, but he had no clean ones. He picked up the syringe and filled it with the drug. Securing a zip tie around his left bicep, he pulled it tight. The puncture marks and track lines stood out against his pale skin. He ignored them and placed the needle to his skin. There was movement on the other side of his apartment. Glancing up he saw a shadow of a bat. He nearly dropped the needle, but when he looked again he saw nothing. Letting out a deep breath, he pressed the needle against his skin again.

"Grayson, you are a disgrace."

"Damian?" He looked up, seeing there was nothing there. Shaking his head, he focused back on the needle.

"Dick, why?"

"Go away, Timmy. You can't see this." He closed his eyes, not wanting to see Tim's disappointed face.

"Not so perfect now, are you Goldie? Daddybats won't approve this or what you did to get it."

"Shut up Jay."

"Master Richard, I expected better from you."

"Alfred, please don't."

"What are you doing, Pixie Boots?"

"Babs…"

"I should have never taken you in."

"Bruce, no I… All of you just–"

He looked up and saw no-one in the room. Letting out a deep breath, he closed his eyes. He was just missing his family – that was it. He was missing everyone, even Jason. They were probably all missing his too, well all of them except Jason. He wanted to see them. It was horrible being apart from his family, with it hurting even more than what he did with the dealer. But, it was what he did with the dealer that meant that he could never return to them. They would never accept him for what he has done and what he knew he would do again. This addiction was going to kill him, but he wasn't going to stop. He was going to destroy himself completely before the drug killed him.

He knew this, but he wasn't going to stop.

With a deep breath, he inserted the needle into a vein in his arm. He injected the drug and let the breath out.

It didn't take long for the drug to take effect.

Sinking deeper into the chair, he closed his eyes. Warmth spread through his aching limbs and he relaxed, unaware of anything happening around him. He smiled at the sound of cheering.

He was in a circus tent, standing on a platform high above an excited audience. On the other side of the tent, on platforms identical to his, were his parents, dressed in their bright blue costumes. His mother waved at him while his father grabbed the bar attached to the ropes and jumped from the platform. The crowd cheered.

His father let go of the bar, did a summersault and reached the other bar, using his legs to hold on. He swung back to his wife, who dove to meet him. He grabbed her and together they swung towards Richard.

They never made it.

The rope holding them snapped.

John and Mary Grayson fell, but they never reached the ground.

They flew across the ground and disappeared out of the main entrance.

The Flying Grayson's.

Richard, wanting to join them, stepped off the platform.

He didn't fly.

He woke with a jolt. His breathing was heavy and he was covered in sweat. He sat up, seeing he was in his old room in the manor. On the wall beside him was a Flying Grayson poster and a newspaper clipping featuring the first story about Robin. Bruce hadn't liked that he had put the article up, but, as Richard had pointed out, he wouldn't have been the only kid to have done it. He smiled at the pictures.

He was home.

He was safe.

He was hurting.

His stomach cramped, causing him to fall back onto his mattress and curl into a foetal position. He grimaced in pain. It hurt. It hurt so much. He needed to get out of here. He needed his…

The door opened. Damian walked in carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a glass of water on it. He placed it on the table beside Richard's bed and sneered at him.

"Pennyworth made me do this."

"I'm not hungry."

"Father said you should eat."

"You sound like you don't care." It hurt to move to see Damian properly, but Richard guessed that the little boy was scowling at him.

"I don't, but despite what Todd said, I haven't poisoned it. There's enough poison in your system as it is."

Richard ignored the jibe. "Jason's here?" He must be high or hallucinating from withdrawal. There was no way Jason was in the manor and making jokes.

"He _was_ here, but left after he yelled at Father. I don't know why he puts up with the three of you."

Three? Oh, wait Timmy. He moved his head that felt heavier than normal and looked at Damian. Damian was pouting and had his arms folded. Richard smiled at him.

"I missed you Little D."

"-Tt-"

Damian walked off. Richard looked at the soup. It was tomato, normally his favourite – especially the kind Alfred made – but now the smell made him feel nauseas. He tried sitting up again, but his body ached and he couldn't support himself. He fell back onto his mattress and, rolling onto his side, threw up. He vomited until there was nothing left to throw up and he was left dry heaving.

Someone walked into the room and sat at the side of his bed. A hand ran through his hair. His body relaxed. Opening his eyes, he saw Bruce sitting over him.

"Just relax," Bruce said. "I'm here."

"D-Damian's mad at me."

"He'll come around."

"I'm mad at me. Br-Bruce, I did… did some terrible things–"

"Shh, it's all right. Don't think about that now, okay?"

"But –"

"We'll talk more when you're better. Just try and get some rest."

Richard nodded. He closed his eyes. He couldn't sleep, but it was easier to pretend that he was, than do anything else. Bruce didn't move his hand from Richard's hair, as Richard lay there shivering and in pain.

.

Tim walked through Gotham's streets. It was tense at the mansion and he had to get out for a little while. Alfred was the only one close to holding it together, but even he had to excuse himself for a few minutes after Bruce and Jason's argument. Damian kept glaring his 'I'm-going-to-kill-you-Drake' glare at him, which, if he was going to be honest, was the main reason for his walk. There was only so many times the little brat tried to kill him. Although at the moment Dick seemed like the most likely person to be on the end of the Demon child's wrath.

It wasn't raining in Gotham for once, but Tim still had to edge his way around the city's many puddles. He didn't know where he was heading, just as long as he was a hundred feet from anyone he knew. The news had reached the Internet about five minutes before Dick tried to make his escape from the hospital, it was talked about on the local news channel earlier on TV and it would be all over the newspapers by the morning. None of the Titans would have missed it. Someone – Kon most likely – would be on their way to Gotham to find out the truth and Tim didn't want to see any of them just yet. This morning he found out that Dick was a heroin addict and then he spent the afternoon with Jason; he couldn't deal with any more drama.

He stepped of the sidewalk, letting a woman with pushchair past. She smiled at him and kept on walking. Tim stepped back onto the sidewalk just in time for a car to speed past. It went through a large puddle, sending a tall wave of water towards Tim. He tried to jump out of the way, but was completely covered in the brown, oily water.

"Great," he said, wiping the water from his eyes.

It could have been worse. The car could have hit him. Bruce probably would lose it completely if Tim ended up in the hospital. The man almost had a heart attack when Jason had walked into the manor. When he had gotten over his shock, he became overbearing that, inevitably, had led to the argument.

Tim, looking at the ground more than his surroundings, kept walking. He was getting to the seedier parts of town and, although the sun had just set, the working folk had already arrived at their corners. Some of the workers were skinny with track lines on the inside of the arms and numerous puncture wounds dotting over their exposed flesh. Tim wondered whether they got into drugs because they were prostituting themselves or whether it was the other way round. The latter was the most likely. Tim stopped wondering, scared where it could lead.

He stopped walking and checked his surroundings. On the other side of the street was the apartment block Dick lived in. The light in the kitchen was now off. The building was close to the red light district, but Tim refused to think about that. Instead he thought about the fact that the apartment building was within walking distance to Wayne Manor. Dick had been living close by and they hadn't found him.

It was like with Jason, when he had come back, brain-damaged and forced to live on the streets again. Batman and Robin had patrolled over the streets where Jason had slept and yet they never knew he was there. But, no one was looking for Jason – to them he was dead and buried – so they wouldn't have noticed him against all the other homeless children in Gotham. They had searched for Dick and yet they had all failed.

"Hey, you."

Tim looked up. A man in a dark suit had stopped a couple of feet away from him. He leant against a lamppost, staring at Tim.

"You're one of Wayne's kids, right?" the man asked. "The Drake kid?"

"…Yeah…"

"So Richard… _Grayson_ is your brother?" He smiled when he said 'Grayson', taking his time with the word.

Tim went to turn around. "I've got nothing to say on the matter."

"I understand but you see I'm a friend of Richard's."

Tim paused. No friend of Dick's ever referred to him as Richard. "You know Dick?"

The man laughed. "Yeah I know him. Listen Timmy – I can call you Timmy, right?"

"It's just Tim." Only friends and family referred to him as Timmy and that was only because he couldn't be bothered to correct them anymore.

"Right, right. Look Tim, _Dick_ borrowed a lot of money from me and to pay me back he, well, he did some 'jobs' for me."

"And?"

"And he still owes me quite a bit."

"How much?"

"Quite bit, because of interest and all."

"How much?" Tim asked again.

"Ten thousand, but that's nothing compared to the billions your father has hidden away."

Tim nodded. "I'll talk to Bruce; see if we can come to something out."

"Good good, but the price has gone up."

"By how much?"

"It depends. How much do you want to protect your family's reputation? You see, your brother has done rather undignified things recently, things that could do a lot of damage."

"You're blackmailing us?"

"You're a smart one." The man shrugged. "It's that or your brother continues working for me, pay of his debt my way, but with the rate of interest that's going to take a long time."

"And you think we'll agree to this?"

"No, but I have ways to make life very uncomfortable for your family."

There was movement in the shadows and the sound of a gun cocking. The man reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. Tim took a step back, but stopped when it was a business card the man pulled out.

"Here's my card," he said giving it to Tim. "Feel free to call me anytime within in the next week or else I'll be forced to do something… unpleasant."

Tim nodded. He could argue against the guy – W.T. Griffin according to the card – but the number of people in the shadows – there were six goons now – was growing and it would be easier to leave now, taking the information to Bruce.

"Okay," Tim said, pocketing the card. "You'll be hearing from us."

"Great Timmy," Griffin said. "You should go now and please, say hi to Dick for me."


	7. Normal

Normal

It was late. Everyone was on patrol. Only Alfred was in the manor. The man, as much as he would like the others to believe, wasn't omnipresent. He could be avoided.

Staggering out of bed, he headed towards his wardrobe. Opening the wardrobe drawer, he dug through the pile of clothes at the bottom and found an old hoodie and a pair of trainers. With a lot of effort, he pulled the top on; making sure the hood was up. He slid the trainers on over bare feet, tucking the laces into the side of the shoes rather than tying them with trembling, useless fingers.

Dressed, he left his room and walked through the mansion, using walls and tables he passed for support. He stopped every few minutes, the pain and need exhausting him. Despite that, he managed to get down to the cave. Smelling Kevlar and the bats brought him back to the times before he was taken. They were not all happy memories, but they were better than any of his recent memories.

Wrapping his arms around himself, he headed towards the vehicles, towards where one of his old bikes would be. He doubted he was stable enough to ride at the moment, but it was better than leaving the manor through the front gates where the paparazzi were waiting out the front. The bike would have to be abandoned when he got to the city as it most definitely had a tracker on it.

In his current state he wondered how far he would make it on the bike without falling off. He didn't care. Being dead meant no more pain or humiliation.

.

He could barely stand anymore. He had walked half-a-mile after abandoning his bike and now had to lean against the doorframe of a house that despite being in a nice neighbourhood, wasn't nice inside. Knocking once, he waited, breathing heavily. The door opened partway, the chain on the inside stopping it from opening further.

"Yes?" a man standing on the other side of the door asked.

"I'm here to see William Griffin."

"Are you an acquaintance of Mr Griffin?"

"Yes, my name's Richard Haly. I'm looking to buy."

"Wait."

The door closed. Richard winced, curling forward as pain shot through his stomach. He wouldn't last much longer. When he heard the slide of the chain on the other side, he stood straighter, hiding his weakness. The door opened revealing the red face of William Griffin. Standing behind him was the man who originally opened the door.

"Richard Haly," he said. "Or do you prefer Dick Grayson?"

Richard hung his head. "I'm sorry I lied, but –"

"Think nothing of it _Dick_. All you rich kids give me fake names." Griffin laughed and slung his arm around Richard's shoulders, pulling him into the house. "Although you are the richest of the rich kids that's been here. Little Richie Rich we should call you."

Richard laughed humourlessly with him as he was steered into the living room. A boy and girl not yet out of their teens were on the floor in front of a boarded up fire-place. The boy pulled a needle out of the girl's arm and filled it with a solution that rested in a spoon before sticking the needle into his own arm. His eyelids fluttered as he fell back against the floor. Richard hated himself for wanting to swap places with the boy.

Griffin turned to the man who first opened the door and said, "Scott, why don't you go get us some drinks."

Scott nodded and walked off.

He was lead to a couch and made to sit down. Griffin sat beside him, keeping his arm tight around Richard's shoulders. He was talking, but Richard, too focused on the teens in front of him, didn't hear.

"What?" he asked.

"The papers said you've been in hospital."

"Yeah."

"Overdose it said."

"Accident," said Richard. "My… friend found me."

"But you're all better now?"

"Almost." He looked at the two teens on the floor. They weren't moving. Griffin was talking again.

"What?"

"I said I spoke with one of your brother's earlier."

"My brother?"

"Little Timmy." Griffin chuckled. "Tiny Tim and Richie Rich. I like it."

"You spoke to Tim?"

"Just thought I should introduce myself. Nice kid, gonna fix a meeting with your father and me."

"You want to see Bruce?"

"Sure, I mean if anyone is going to sort out your little debt, it will be him, won't it."

"You can't –"

"Sorry Dick, but I got to make back my money."

"Please don't. I'll…" He gritted his teeth, thinking that Jason would kill him if he heard what he was going to say next. "I'll do anything."

"Oh, I know you will." Griffin patted his hair. "We'll discuss it more later, because first I think we need to sort you out. You look a mess. When was the last time you shot up?"

"A couple of days," Richard said. "I need, just a little."

"Don't worry, I know. We've got it covered." He pulled a packet from his pocket, hanging it in front of Richard's face. "This is new stuff. Apparently it's good and yours for a price."

"I don't… have any money."

"Now we both know there are other ways to pay for things," Griffin said, glancing at his crotch and then at Richard. "Don't we?"

Richard sighed and shutting his eyes to stop himself from crying, he reached for the fly of Griffin's pants. At the same time, Griffin pushed his head down.

Unknown to Richard, Scott had returned. He had pulled out his phone, switching it to the video camera mode and pointing at Richard and Griffin. Making sure his boss' head was kept out of the shot, he pressed record.

.

"Not long now, Dickiebird," a voice said as a belt was tightened around his bicep.

"Jay?" Richard asked. Only Jason called him Dickiebird. He tried to lift his head. He was unable to move, having fallen against the couch once he'd finished with Griffin.

"Who's Jay?" the voice asked. Richard opened his eyes, seeing it was Griffin securing the belt around his arm.

"Brother," Richard said.

"Brother?"

"The dead boy Wayne adopted was called Jason," Scott said as he prepared a syringe.

"Oh yes," said Griffin, slapping Richard's arm. "I heard about that. Todd wasn't it? I think I knew that kid's father – real one that is. Stupid man."

Richard said nothing, scared that if he said anything he'd inadvertently reveal Jason was alive. Scott passed Griffin the syringe. Richard stared at it, focusing on the syringe. He needed it, more than ever.

"Perhaps we should wait," Griffin said, hovering the point of the needle over a vein in Richard's arm. "It did nearly kill you the other day."

"No, please," Richard said. "Don't."

"Only kidding," said Griffin, inserting the syringe. "You need to relax."

He winced as he felt the drug enter his bloodstream, but took Griffin's advice and closed his eyes. The drug would be taking effect soon.

He tried. The others would hate him, but at least he could say he tried.

"Papers say you're from the circus," said Griffin. "An acrobat?" Richard nodded. "And with the force down in 'Haven?"

"Yeah."

"Even engaged to the Commissioner's crippled daughter at one point."

He hated the term cripple – Babs would freak if she heard, but he nodded. "Yeah."

"So, how the hell did you let this happen to you?"

He shrugged and rolled over. The drug started working. The pain was fading. He felt normal again.


	8. Help

Help

Jason sat on the edge on one of the city's skyscrapers with his legs dangling over the side. He smoked a cigarette, flicking ash over the edge and onto the crowded streets below. Beside him was his helmet, discarded for the moment. Batman may not believe in taking breaks during patrols, but like many of Batman's philosophies, Jason didn't agree. Besides, Bruce couldn't complain. If he was smoking, then he wasn't out there killing. Although he was tempted to kill someone tonight, just to piss Bruce off.

Their argument last night had been about nothing. He couldn't even remember what it was about, just that he was angry with his sort of father. However, he did want to go back to the manor and see Dick. His brother would be in the middle of withdrawal now and, from what Jason had heard about it, Dick would be suffering.

He exhaled a puff of smoke and leant back on his left hand, watching the smoke twirl. There were no stars out tonight. The clouds were dark. There'd be rain later.

Behind him, someone landed onto the roof. The footsteps indicated that the person was small, but wearing large boots.

"What do you want, Brat?"

He turned around, seeing Robin standing a couple of metres away from him. The kid had his arms crossed and was scowling at him.

"Well," he asked letting out a breath of smoke.

The kid stared at the smoke rise and then looked back at Jason. "What's that like?"

"What?"

"Smoking."

Jason examined his cigarette and shrugged. "I don't know. Relaxing, I guess."

"Grayson smokes those."

"No, Grayson smokes cheap shit."

The boy frowned. "What's the difference?"

"Why do you care?"

"I don't." He moved closer to Jason. "It's an addiction?"

"Yeah."

"How does it differentiate to heroin?"

Jason thought for a moment. "It's legal and you don't inject it into your veins."

"You can smoke heroin."

"What are you getting at?"

"I don't understand why you and Grayson are so enthusiastic about poisoning yourselves."

"I didn't think you liked us."

"I don't like _you_," he said, which was perhaps the closest he would get to admitting he liked Grayson.

"So, why'd you care?"

"Grayson had my respect once. I want to know why he chose to lose it."

He smirked, but then shook his head. "I don't think he had a choice."

"-Tt- Grayson could have come back if he wanted to." He scratched at the skin below his mask. "Was it because of me?"

Jason sighed. Sometimes he forgot that the Ninja Demon child _was_ a child. "Listen, I'm going to tell you the same thing your father told me when I asked him the same question about my mom – It is never your fault."

"But she wasn't your mother."

"And Dick isn't your brother. The point is it's not your fault." He smiled at the kid who was scowling at him. "That's one of the best thing your father ever told me."

Robin, while keeping a wide space between them, sat next to him. "Thank you."

"No problem Kid." He took another drag of the cigarette. Beside him he could feel Robin staring at him. He turned to look at him, causing the kid to look away. "What?"

"The cigarette."

"Yeah…?"

"Could I –"

"No."

"Don't presume what I'm going to say."

"You were going to ask whether you could try this." He held up the cigarette, waving the smoke between them. "The answer's no."

The kid's frown deepened, making Jason think he resembled a pug. In a few years time, once he lost the puppy fat, the kid would have his father's Bat glare, but now it just looked hilarious.

"Why not?"

"You're ten."

"How old were you when you started smoking?"

"Not the point. Besides, the old Daddy Bats may decide to drop his killing rule if he finds out."

"You smoked as Robin."

"Yeah and look at well I turned out. Besides…" He flicked the cigarette over the side of the building. "It's gone now."

"You've got more."

"Why do you want to 'poison' yourself?"

"I don't. I want to know what the so called appeal is."

"Well, you're going to have to wait a couple of years."

"-TT-"

"That little noise thing you make, is that like the new Robin catchphrase or something." Damian glared at him, causing Jason to hold his hands up. "Hey, it's better than Dick's, 'Holy, _Stupid random thing sort of related to what we working on,_ Batman!'"

"You're a moron, Todd."

"Right, other than pestering me for smokes, is there any other reason why you're here?"

Robin let out a deep breath and, without looking at Jason, said, "I think we are all in agreement that Grayson needs help. It is to my knowledge that you have the most knowledge in this area, both personally and through your… _work_."

"What are you getting at?"

Damian's hands tightened into fist. He glanced at Jason and then at the street below. "Both my mother and father have spoken highly of you and, it is because of this, I think you must help Grayson."

"Are you asking for my help?"

"No. I'm demanding your help."

Jason laughed. If wasn't scared of having his hand bitten off, he would have ruffled Damian's hair. "I've already done my bit."

The kid's face went red. "You must do more."

"Whatever Kid." He stood up, ready to leave. He stopped when he saw Robin touch the com in his ear.

"Robin here … What do you mean? … … Father— … But—… Fine. Robin out." He switched off his com and looked at Jason. "Grayson has left."

"What!? Why!?" Stupid, fucking family.

"He didn't say, but Father said that he'll find him."

"Well, let's go help."

"What?"

"You demanded I help, so let's go."

.

"You let him go?" Jason asked as he stormed into the cave, closely followed by Robin. "How the fuck did you let that happen?"

Batman and Red Robin, both with their cowls down, stood in front of the main computer with Alfred. They all turned around as Red Hood and Robin approached them.

"We didn't let him go," Bruce said. "He snuck away."

"You're Batman and Alfred, you just don't let people sneak away, let alone in your own home."

"It's nice that you think so highly of me, even after all these years, Master Jason, but even we aren't that good."

"Still…" Jason said, his anger fading away by those few words by the butler. It was hard to be angry with Alfred. The man put up with so much shit, it seemed unfair to be angry at him now when he was probably the sanest person here.

"So, where is he?" Damian asked, walking over to the monitor and studying the screen. It was a map of Gotham with an area flashing about a mile away the manor.

"We're not sure," said Bruce, pressing a button and changing the screen to a bird's eye satellite view of Gotham. He zoomed in on a street. "He took a bike and abandoned it. CCTV and our cameras haven't picked him up, but Oracle is on the lookout."

"Great," Jason said rolling his eyes. He guessed Babs loved that. "So, has anybody got any ideas?"

"Tim was approached last night by someone going by the name of William Griffin. Dick owes him money, so we believe he maybe one of his dealers. There's a chance Dick's gone to him."

"I've heard of him," Jason said. Griffin, a cowardly, but powerful man, always paid up to the Red Hood. "House in the suburbs somewhere."

Tim pressed another button and the screen focussed on a white walled house. "He gave me a card with his cell number on it. Multiple calls to and from that number have come from this house. The house belongs to someone called Nicolas Burton, but we believe that is an alias."

"So let's go," said Damian.

"Not that easy," Bruce said, placing a hand on his son's shoulder.

"Why not?"

"Bit suspicious if a bunch of superheroes burst in to pull out a 'junkie'," Tim said. "Even if he is the son of a billionaire."

"So we go," said Damian.

"Yeah, because sending the ten-year-old kid brother looks good," said Jason.

"Plus how would _we _know where he lives when all we have is a cell number," said Bruce.

"Dick could have told one of us," said Tim.

"Not fucking likely," said Jason. Tim glared at him. "Sorry, but he wouldn't have told us."

"Maybe not his family," said Alfred. "But what about the friend he was with when he overdosed."

"What?"

"Peter Haywood, concerned for his friend and knowing the location of this Griffin person, informs Master Bruce and I think you can work out the rest."

Jason hated his involvement in the plan, but he couldn't deny that it was genius. Dick was going to have to owe him big time when he got clean, because he was going to get clean. There was no way in hell that his family was going to let Dick leave the manor until he was better. There was no way in hell that any member of the Justice League or the Teen Titans or any other group Dick had been part of would let Dick leave the manor until he was better. The bastard was too popular and too damn likeable for his own good.

"That might work," Bruce said after a moment of thought. "Jason?"

"What?"

"Would you be all right doing this?"

"I'd rather not, but this isn't about me, is it?"

Bruce frowned, but then nodded. "Good. Tim, I need you to find blueprints of the building. When you're done, you and Robin watch the house. Keep us updated of who goes in or out and if you see Dick." Damian went to complain, but Bruce held up his hand, silencing him. "You are not allowed to fight, at least not until Dick gets home, understand."

Damian huffed and nodded. Bruce turned his glare towards Tim, who rolled his eyes and said, "Yes."

"Good. Alfred, after Tim's finished with the computer, you take over and monitor it."

"Yes Sir."

"And Jason, we need to talk."

"…Okay," Jason said, not looking forward to the conversation.

"And remember young Sirs," Alfred said, "like Master Tim and Master Damian, you two are not allowed to fight until Master Richard comes home."

Both Jason and Bruce smiled.


	9. Discovery

Discovery

The Birds watched as they walked towards the house where they believed William Griffin to live. Jason turned around, expecting to see the Robins, but seeing another row of white walled housed on the other side of the road instead. He knew that they would show up if they needed. Since they had started their surveillance the night before, they had only reported six people going into the house and then leaving soon after. There had been no sign of Griffin or Dick. Now it was just past nine in the morning and Operation Drag Dick's Stupid Ass Home (not official name but, as no one had given the mission a name, Jason took it upon himself to do so) had started.

As they got to the front gate, Jason stopped to light a cigarette, earning himself a disapproving glare from Bruce. Whatever, it helped add to the image they were going for. Jason exhaled the smoke from the side of his mouth, letting it blow in Bruce's direction. The man's frown deepened. Jason, pulling the cigarette away from his mouth so it could dangle between his fingers, smiled. Alfred may have said no fighting, but he said nothing about them antagonising each other – a skill that Jason was better at than Bruce.

"I know you're armed," Bruce said, "but please avoid shooting anyone."

"Only use them as a last resort," he said taking a drag of a cigarette. "Besides how many of your toys do you have on you right now?"

Bruce said nothing. He marched up the path causing Jason to run to catch up. On the front porch Bruce stood to the side of the door, out of sight from whoever opened it from the inside. He nodded once at Jason, who knocked on the door.

The door opened slightly, revealing part of a face of a man with blond hair.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"I'm looking for a William Griffin," Jason said. "Is he here?"

"What do you want him for?"

That was more or less a confirmation that Griffin was there. "I heard he sells stuff I'm interested in."

"Heard from who?"

"A friend. Said he was called Richard."

"Richard Haly?"

"Sure?" Naming himself after the circus was a pretty Dick thing to do.

"What's your name?"

"Peter Haywood."

"Wait a moment."

The door closed. Jason turned to Bruce and shrugged. Bruce watched the door, shrinking back when it opened again. This time it was Griffin on the other end; he opened the door fully.

"So, you're a friend of Richard?" he asked.

"Yeah, he told me about this place." He dropped the cigarette, grinding it beneath his foot. "Is he here?"

"Why do you care?"

"I haven't seen him since his overdose. I'm just worried."

Griffin smiled. "Well, Richard Haly isn't here, but we do have a Dick Grayson."

"Great," said Jason as Bruce moved to stand next to him. "We'd like to see him."

If Griffin was surprised by Bruce Wayne's sudden appearance, he didn't show it. Instead, he said, "Mister Wayne, I take it you got my message."

"Tim gave it to me, yes, but I'm here for my son."

"I don't think he wants to see you."

"Yeah, but he's a stupid idiot," said Jason, "and we just want to see for ourselves that he's all right."

"Fine," said Griffin, "but he's meeting with someone at the moment."

Jason wasn't an idiot. He knew what Griffin meant. Pushing past Griffin, he stormed into the housing yelling 'Dick', while Bruce was yelling 'Peter'.

.

"You're not as pretty as you were in this picture," said one of Griffin's dealers who had paid to 'spend some time' with Richard. In his hand, he held a picture, cut from the Gotham Gazette, of Richard from a Wayne Party fundraiser a year ago. He looked from it to Richard who stood by the door, wanting very much to be on the other side of it. The dealer smiled. "Still fucking pretty though."

"The picture was taken months ago," Richard said.

"And your life has gone to shit."

"Pretty much."

The dealer laughed and sat on the bare mattress in the centre of the room. He patted the space beside him. "You're going to join me?"

Richard nodded. He sat beside the dealer, refusing to look at him. The dealer reached out, grabbing the back of Richard's neck. He leaned forward to kiss him. Richard turned his head away and felt the dealer's lips on the corner of his mouth. He shuddered as the dealer began to kiss and bite his cheek and neck.

"Turn around," the dealer said, gripping Richard's hips and turning him around himself.

Richard rolled over, so he was lying on his stomach. He closed his eyes as he felt hands all over his body. He needed another hit. It would be easier to do this if he was high, but he had to do this before Griffin would let him have another hit. The dealer's hands groped his ass, squeezing it tightly. Richard tensed. It was a reaction he wished he could control as it would hurt less if he relaxed. Breathing through his nose, he felt the hands move up to waistline of his pants and –

"Dick! Dick! Where are you, you stupid bastard?"

Richard lifted his head. He only knew one person that was that loud and brash. Sitting up, he pushed the dealer away from him as Jason continued to yell for him.

The dealer wrapped his arms around Richard. "Looks like someone's looking for you. He has to wait an hour."

"Get off me."

"What was that?" the dealer asked, holding Richard tighter.

"Dick!" Jason yelled again.

"Get off me." He broke the grip and staggered towards the door. The dealer grabbed his ankle, tripping him. He threw his hands out in front of him, but still hit his face against the floor. Richard kicked back, but any impact didn't cause much damage. The dealer flipped him on his back. He straddled Richard's hips and punched him in the jaw. It was a sloppy hit, but still stunned him.

"You're not going anywhere."

Richard thrust his palm upwards, hitting the dealer in the nose, causing the dealer to fall backwards. Jason yelled his name again, sounding as if he was outside the door. Richard whistled a simple bird call, one that they used to alert others on patrol. The door was thrown open and Jason stomped in. He grabbed Richard, hauling him too his feet.

"Jay, what –"

"Shut up."

The dealer groaned and sat up. Blood covered his face. He glared at the brothers. "What the fuck?"

"We're going," Jason said, ignoring the dealer and dragging Richard away. "Bruce is downstairs talking to that 'friend' of yours."

"Bruce is here?"

"That's what I said."

Richard stopped and pulled against Jason. "No, I can't see him. Not here."

"You don't have a choice, so come on."

.

Dick didn't fight him as he dragged him down the stairs. He muttered about not wanting to see Bruce, which was a feeling Jason was familiar with, but this was for Dick's own good. He didn't know what to expect when he heard Dick's bird call and stormed into the room, but seeing Dick on the floor with the John lying sprawled out beside him with a bloody nose was not it. It wasn't a scene he would have to bleach from his mind – which he was thankful for – but he did worry how it ended up like that.

"Bruce!" he yelled when they made it downstairs. "I've got him."

He headed towards the front door, seeing Bruce and Griffin, plus the guy that first opened the door, standing there. Bruce, who looked like his usual grim and uncomfortable self, smiled when he saw his sons.

"Dick," he said, "you all right?"

Dick nodded as Jason pulled him forward saying, "We're getting out of here."

Bruce stepped forward and grabbed Dick's other arm. They carried him forward, past Griffin and the other guy. It was when they reached the door, Griffin spoke.

"We'll miss you, Richard," he said. "Before you go though, Scott has a video he wants to show you."

Jason turned his head, knowing he shouldn't look, but being unable to fight the compulsion. The guy, Scott, held up his phone. Filling up the screen was a shaky image that made Jason want to bleach his mind. Dick tensed beside him.

"No," Bruce said as Jason, not so eloquently added, "You fucking idiot."

The video on screen was Dick giving head to some guy. It was a profile view with dark hair obscuring the face, but it was definitely Dick grimacing as he bobbed his head up and down.

"It's not the most flattering video, but I think we can all agree that –"

It was only when he felt the ache in his knuckles that Jason realised he had punched Griffin. The man fell against the wall and slumped down the wall, out cold, and with blood dribbling from his mouth. Jason turned from the man and pointed his gun at Scott. Bruce called out his 'name', but Jason chose to ignore him.

"Are there any copies of that video?" he asked. Scott shook his head. Jason smiled. "Great." He flipped the gun, grabbing it by the barrel and smashing the handle of it against the phone. Scott jumped backwards and dropped the phone – it was in pieces before it hit the floor.

"Peter," Bruce said as he grabbed Jason's collar. "We're leaving."

Jason nodded, allowing Bruce to drag him and Dick out of the house. Once outside, Jason had to stop himself from hyperventilating. He let Bruce guide him into the car. Everyone was quiet, all in their own state of shock. Bruce put Dick in the front passenger seat and then climbed into the driver seat.

When they drove out of the block, Dick spoke, "Bruce, I'm sorry, I –"

"Don't." His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Just don't."

Dick lowered his head. His whole body shook as he tried to stop himself from crying. He rubbed at the bruises on his arm as if that would make them disappear. Bruce glanced at him and sighed.

"Dick, _I'm_ sorry," he said. "This shouldn't have happened to you; I should have been there. I should have stopped it.

"Bruce, I- I-" Dick let out a sob. He covered his face with his hand. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He curled up, lifting his knees to his chest. His rocked as he sobbed loudly. It was a pathetic. Richard Grayson was a lot of things, but a pretty crier he was not. Unsure what to do, but knowing his brother responded well to contact, Jason reached out and rested his hand on Dick's shoulder. Dick flinched, but then leaned into the touch. He was still crying, but he was calmer.

Jason glanced at Bruce, who glanced back at him. This was out of both their comfort zones. Dealing with emotional fallout was Dick's area of expertises, but his current way of dealing with his problems was by getting high. As that was not an option and seeing that Bruce was an emotionless vacuum, it seemed it fell on Jason to say something to ease the tension.

"Well I'm just happy that I'm not the only fuck up anymore."

Bruce glared at him, but Dick let out an amused snort and shook his head. Mission accomplished.


	10. Dreams

Dreams

Jason was wandering the manor. He thought about going back to his crappy apartment and sleep, but it was warm here and he could eat Alfred's cooking. The company wasn't great, but Bruce was in the cave, Tim was with Dick and Damian was complaining to Alfred about how 'Drake was not going to help Grayson, so clearly he should give up and go away,' so they were all easily avoided.

When they got back to the manor, Bruce helped Dick to his room and then disappeared to do Batman stuff. He didn't say anything about the video, but Jason guessed that Bruce was checking to see if that Scott person had lied about there being no copies of the video. Probably was a good idea. Dick's reputation didn't that video going online. There was still a Griffin problem, but Jason could always hit him again… or the Red Hood could just shoot him… maybe.

He stopped outside a door, noticing a familiar sign on it. It was a laminated piece of A4 paper with skull and cross bones drawn in the corners with the words 'JASON TODD'S ROOM – NO DICKS ALLOWED' written in the middle. He remembered making it after Dick kept walking into his room unannounced and only leaving after Jason threatened to kill him.

He was surprised that it was still up; Alfred hated it plus he hadn't used the room in years. He reached for the door, his hand hovering over the handle for a minute before he opened it and walked in.

The room hadn't changed in six years. There were the same posters on the walls, the same books on the shelves and the same fucking sheets on the bed. On the desk was a cardboard box, the one that he had been given to him the day he ran away, the one that had his birth certificate. He walked over to it, finding the certificate was at the top with the picture of him with Catherine and Willis – Mom and Dad – beneath it. He studied the picture, not remembering when it was taken, but remembering being that age when Dad still had a steady job and Mom looked after him and not the other way around. Then everything went to shit and no matter how much he wanted to hate them for lying to him, or abandoning him, or failing him, he couldn't. This was the first time he had seen their faces in six years and he missed them.

Holding the picture close to his body with one arm, he used his other to lay his birth certificate flat on the table. Beside it was a Superman mug (bought to piss Bruce off) were some pens. He picked one up and in thick, black ink wrote 'Catherine Todd' in the space above the blurred water mark, replacing his birth mother with his actual one. When done, he dropped the pen and stepped backwards, stopping when his legs hit the end of his old bed. He sat down.

The bed was too soft; it always had been too soft. Jason remembered his first night in the manor. He, in an old pair of Dick's pyjamas, hadn't slept, unable to get comfortable having gone from an old mattress on the floor in an abandoned apartment to a warm double-bed in a safe mansion. For a week after that he slept on the floor until Bruce found out. The day after that Bruce had brought him a new, harder mattress and told him it was all right to ask for things that would make him comfortable in his new home. Jason had smiled when Bruce described the manor as 'home' and the mattress was an improvement, causing him to sleep better.

He lay back, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on the ceiling. Dick had got them for him one Christmas, saying that he once had them in his room, but had then complained when Jason had used them to spell out the word 'fuck'. Bruce and Alfred hadn't been impressed either, but as the word was still stuck up there, they couldn't have thought it was that bad.

Rolling on his side, he examined his family picture again. Damn, he looked like his dad. His mom always said he would, but he never took her seriously until now. He was in better shape, but he couldn't deny that they had the same chin, the same jaw line and possibly the same nose – it was hard to tell seeing as both of them had broken their noses. He, although knowing he wouldn't, tried to find similarities between him Catherine. There were none, but Jason could to pretend they had the same smile. It was an easy enough thing to pretend, considering the fact he had a similar glare to his adoptive father's glare – or as close to the infamous Batglare as possible. He put the frame on his bedside table, next to one of him, Bruce and Alfred. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

He was thirteen and had just got in from school. Dumping his bag on the stairs, he headed towards the kitchen to get something to eat while doing his homework. Alfred told him to be quiet as Bruce was currently in one of the living rooms meeting with a man on some fancy environment thingy. Jason didn't pay much attention as he made a sandwich, but nodded along as Alfred made him a mug of tea.

When he walked out of the kitchen, holding a plate of food in one hand, a mug in another and a packet of potato chips in his mouth, Bruce was finishing his meeting. He stood by the front door talking to a plump man. Jason dropped the chips onto the plate and hoped he could sneak past. No such luck. Bruce turned around and smiled at him.

"Hey Buddy, good day at school?"

"S'alright. Got an A in my English test."

"That's great. You worked hard for that."

"Well done," said the man.

Jason went to thank the man, trying out that politeness thing Alfred kept talking about. He froze, recognising the plump face of the stranger. His memory showed the man, sweaty and red-faced, looming naked over him in a non-descript motel room.

"Jay, you all right?" Bruce asked.

Jason dropped his food and drink. They smashed when they hit the floor. Jason turned around and ran upstairs. He ran to his room and hid under his quilt. Hyperventilating, he curled into a ball. This couldn't be happening. That was his old life. He was safe now, protected.

There was a knock on the door. It opened and someone walked in. Jason curled tighter into himself as he felt the bed dip when the person sat on the edge of his bed.

"Jay?" It was Bruce. "What's the matter?" He moved the quilt away from Jason. Jason cried out and shuffled away from Bruce. "Jason, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."

Jason nodded. Bruce began instructing him to breathe in and out. When his breathing regulated, he sat up. His body shook and he wrapped his arm around himself. Bruce watched him.

"Jay?"

Jason looked at Bruce and then looked away. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" When he got no answer, he asked. "Did that man downstairs do something to you?" Jason nodded. "What did he do?"

Jason shook his head. "I didn't want to do it," he said, his voice shaking and broken. "But I was so hungry and he gave me fifty dollars."

"Oh Jay…"

"I'm sorry."

Bruce pulled him into a hug, holding him tight. Jason sobbed into his chest. This was it; Bruce was just softening the blow before he would tell him to leave. He would have to go back on the streets and back to…

"Please don't send me away. I'll do anything, please."

"I know you will," said Bruce, moving back and taking off his shirt. "Come here Jay," he said. "I'll be gentle."

Jason jumped off the bed and backed away from Bruce. He turned around and bumped into Dick, who walked towards the bed and unbuttoning his shirt at the same time. Looking back at the bed, he saw that Griffin had taken Bruce's place. The man was unzipping his trousers and smirked at the brothers. Jason ran of the room and straight into the warehouse in Ethiopia. The Joker stood there with the crowbar. The beaten happened as it always did, except the wielder changed with every strike. First there was Bruce in the purple suit and the stretched smile, then Dick, Catherine, Sheila, Willis, Alfred, Tim and Damian.

He was shaken awake before the bomb went off.

He opened his eyes and looked around, seeing that he was lying on his old bed, in his old room. Bruce sat on the edge of the bed, hand resting on Jason's arm. Remembering his dream, Jason shuffled away.

"Bad dream?"

Jason nodded and sat up. Looking away, he rubbed his eyes, annoyed that he wiped away tears.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." He couldn't go into the memories that his mind had perverted. The first part of his dream, the part where Bruce had found out his past hadn't gone like that. Bruce had comforted him, promised him he would never have to through that again and then, not long afterwards, started organising the adoption. The scenario his mind created was brought about by his fears when he first moved into the manor. He blamed Dick for reminding him of those fears all over again.

"We thought you'd left," Bruce said after a moment of silence. "I didn't expect to find you here."

"It's all the same," Jason said.

"You hated it when people moved your stuff."

"Yeah, because a dead kid cares about that."

Bruce shrugged. "They're your belongings; I didn't want to move them."

Jason understood what Bruce was getting at – the man didn't handle death well and with the guilt he felt over Jason's death, Bruce probably couldn't face going into his room. He looked around the room, stopping when he saw the top his wardrobe.

"So you haven't moved anything?" he asked.

"Alfred might have, but I haven't."

Jason climbed off the bed and headed towards the wardrobe. He felt along the top, stopping when he felt a cardboard box. Smiling, he pulled the box down and opened it, finding a half-full box of cigarettes, a hipflask (with rum in if Jason remembered correctly) and an old Zippo lighter with the words 'To W, Happy Birthday, lots of love C & J'. The lighter belonged to his father, but when he left, he also left the lighter behind. Jason had acquired it. It was the only item of his parents that he had kept. He pocketed the lighter and offered the box to Bruce.

"Six year old cigarettes and rum?" he said.

"No, thank you."

Jason picked up the flask, unscrewed the lid and sniffed it. He wrinkled his nose at the stench and took a sip. It caused him to gasp and flush. Bruce shook his head and smiled.

Jason coughed and asked, "How's Dick?"

"He's in the early stages of withdrawal and is too ashamed to look at anyone."

That was understandable, Jason thought. "The video?" he asked.

"There're no traces of it out in the public and Oracle says she'll stay on the lookout of it."

"Bet she'll love that," Jason muttered, sipping more of the rum.

Bruce ignored Jason's muttering and gave him a stern look. "How are you with this, you know, considering –"

"I'm fine."

"You knew about it, didn't you?"

"We both found out each other's Pretty Woman story at the same time." He smirked. "Looks like you raised two whores."

Bruce frowned. "You know I don't think like that."

"I know. You'll probably need to tell Dick that though."

"I will when he's better." Bruce shifted in his seat. "Are you going to stick around?"

"I don't know."

"I would like it."

Jason laughed. "Yeah, right."

"It's true. We may have differing philosophies, but I do care and worry about you."

"You worry? What's the matter? You never express emotions."

"Out of all you boys, I probably worry about you the most."

"Even compared to Dick?"

"I can predict what Dick is going to once he's better and can prepare for it," Bruce said. "I can't do that with you and it scares me because I don't think I could lose you again."

Jason sat on his desk chair. "I don't understand why."

"Because of the simplest reasons; you're my son and no matter how hard you try otherwise, you are a good person."

Jason didn't know what to say. It was so much easier arguing with Bruce than having a heart-to-heart. He blamed Dick for this.

Bruce stood up. "I know you won't stay. I understand that, but please, don't disappear completely."


	11. Smoke

Smoke

Jason drove to the manor. A cigarette hung from his mouth and he held a cup of coffee, trying to keep it upright as he drove. After his talk with Bruce yesterday he went to see Dick. His older brother had locked himself in his en suite bathroom, refusing to let anybody in. Tim sat in the chair, his face red and his back straight. The kid said that Dick was feeling ill, so Jason just yelled to him that he'd back tomorrow and left. Now he was heading back and he was scared to see what condition Dick was in. He'd seen people going through withdrawal before and it was hard to picture that happening to Dick.

As he arrived in Bristol he caught sight of a red headed man walking in the direction of the manor. He drove up beside him and wound down his window.

"Harper," he said.

"Todd," Roy said as he carried on walking.

"Want a lift? I assume we're heading in the same direction."

Roy stopped and looked at the car. It wasn't as fancy as the cars the rest of the Bats had, but Jason worked hard to keep it up and running. It wasn't going to blow up.

"Come on," Jason said. "It's not far and there's a load of the paparazzi outside the house still."

Roy didn't need any more persuasion. He got in the passenger side. Jason offered him a cigarette.

"I've quit."

"I keep meaning to do that." He exhaled a smoke ring.

"Why won't you?"

"I've been doing it since I was eight. It'll be too hard." It was one he swiped from Catherine's purse and he had thrown up afterwards. Evidently it didn't stop him.

"Heroin's harder."

"So when Dickie's clean, I'll quit. Hell, we can quit together."

"He's smoking?"

"And injecting heroin." He looked at Roy, seeing the man flinch. "How bad is withdrawal?"

"Bad. Can't picture Dick going through it, but I can't imagine Dick as a junkie."

"I don't think anyone could."

"How did it happen?"

"Nightwing got captured. The people holding him spent their time drugging him. I'm guessing they kept him high pretty much all the time, which fucked him up when they let him go."

"Why did they let him go?"

"Huh?"

"Why would they let him go, it doesn't make sense."

"That's what Dick told me," Jason said, thinking nothing more of it.

They passed the paparazzi, still camped out in front of the manor. The flash of cameras dazzled Jason as he drove towards the gates. He flicked the cigarette butt out the window, towards one sneaky reporter, before he pressed in the code. The gate opened. Jason drove up the drive.

Alfred met them at the door, pleased that Jason had returned and that Roy was visiting.

"Master Jason and Master Roy, it's good to see you both."

"You too Al," said Jason. "How is he?"

"Master Richard is very ill at the moment, but he is getting there."

"Up for visitors?"

"Not really, but he would probably like to see you both."

"Still in his room?"

"Hasn't left," said Alfred as Jason and Roy started walking upstairs. "Oh and when you see Master Timothy, please tell him to go to bed."

.

Dick lay on his side, curled around a bucket. Dressed only in a pair of boxers, he was shivering and sweating at the same time. Tim sat where Jason saw him last, sitting in the chair. Both of them looked like they need to sleep.

"S'up brothers," Jason said, walking him.

Tim looked up, surprised by Jason's arrival. "Jason?"

Dick glanced up, eyes red with dark smudges beneath them. "Hey."

"Well you look like shit."

"Thanks."

"Roy's here," he said, stepping away from the door to show Roy.

"Hey Dick," he said, moving towards the bed.

"Here to watch me suffer," Dick asked.

"Obviously," Roy said. "I have to agree with Jason, you look like shit."

"Well fuck you too."

Roy laughed and sat on the end of the bed. "I don't envy you at all."

"How'd you live through this?"

"You just do."

Dick snorted. "Helpful."

"It's you; you'll get through it."

"People keep –" He stopped and leaned over the bowl, gagging. He spat up some liquid and groaned. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he glanced towards Jason. "Someone kill me."

"And give you the satisfaction? Fuck no," Jason said, unsure whether Dick was being serious or not. He had, after all, saved Dick from an intentional overdose the other day.

"Please."

"No. Go to sleep." He turned to Tim. "You too, Alfred's orders."

Tim seemed startled. "But, I –"

"Really? You're going to defy Alfred?" Jason asked.

"Go to bed Timmy," said Dick.

"Wow, you've got both of them ganging up on you," said Roy. "You better do as they say."

"I will carry you." Jason pulled Tim slightly out of the chair. "Move."

"Wait –"

Jason pushed him out the chair. Tim fell to the floor and cursed. Jason laughed as he sat down. "Don't think I've heard you swear before Little Red. Now go to bed."

Tim huffed and stayed on the floor, shuffling away from Jason.

Dick tried to sit up, but didn't get far. He rested his head against the pillow. "What's Little Red?"

Jason laughed again and then scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, something I came up with when we broke into your shitty apartment to get your stuff."

"Why did you come up with that?"

"Two guys had beaten us there. You owed them money."

Dick winced. "Shit." He forced out a smile, looking more like a grimace. "At least you two are getting on."

"Yeah, me and the Replacement; me and you – hell, even me and the short one had a little heart-to-heart the other night."

"Damian?"

"Yeah. Watch him with your smokes; he seemed interested in trying it."

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Of course he was."

"I think that kid's growing on me," said Roy.

"He does that." Dick seized up, wincing in pain. He shook, but then relaxed, breathing heavily. Both Jason, Tim and Roy leaned forward to help him, but he pushed them away meekly. "Just leave me alone."

"Why would we do that?" Roy asked.

"Please, just let me suffer in silence."

"Trust me; you don't want to be alone at the moment."

"Why?"

"Because you might want to hurt yourself," Roy said.

"I'm not going to hurt myself."

Jason thought about the overdose. At the moment Dick looked miserable and he could see his brother wanting to hurt himself again. He leant over and patter Dick's arm. "We'll be quiet. Why don't get you some sleep?"

"Can't."

"Try."

Dick reached for a glass of water. His hands shook, spilling water over his pillow. Roy grabbed the glass, holding it steady as he guided it to Dick's mouth. Dick took a sip, but choked and coughed most of it up.

"Thanks." He curled up and closed his eyes. His body shook, but he was exhausted and fell into a fitful sleep.

_._

_He had been out patrolling. He had spoken to Barbara, flirting with her as usual. He had stopped a mugging and was on his was home when… He couldn't remember what happened next, but he definitely wasn't home._

_ His bed back home was soft, with a thick quilt and feather pillow. The mattress he was lying was hard and lumpy. There was no pillow and the blanket was holey and thin. He sat up pushing the blanket off him. Looking around the dark room, he could see mould on the walls. The windows were boarded up, but he could see light through the gaps._

_ His head hurt. He felt the back, feeling a large lump beneath his hair. That explained the memory loss, but not where he was. He rubbed his eyes, but stopped when he didn't feel his mask. His skin was sticky, the glue not having been cleaned off properly. His gloves and boots had been removed, but he was in the rest of his Nightwing uniform. In the limited light he could see the blue stripe on his arm._

_ The door unlocked and opened. Two people – a man and a woman – walked in. The man was big, obviously someone who did a lot of weightlifting. The woman was hard looking and didn't look like someone you wanted to mess with._

_ Dick stood up, but he was unsteady and the movement made him feel dizzy. He suspected a concussion._

_ "Who'd have thought the masked vigilante would have been one of Wayne's boys?" the man said._

_ "It makes you wonder who the rest of the Wayne family really are," the woman said._

_ "I don't know who you are but, you're making a big mistake," Dick said._

_ "I don't think so," said the man. "In fact you're the one who has made a mistake."_

_ The woman pulled out a syringe. Dick reacted, darted between the other two in the hopes to get to the door. He was slow though, dizzy. The man grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. Dick tried to break free, but the man grabbed his other arm and held it out straight. The woman pulled up to his bicep, revealing the tanned skin of his arm. She pulled the cap off the syringe with her teeth and plunged the needle in the exposed vein in the crease of his elbow._

_ Dick hissed in pain as the substance was injected into his bloodstream. The man let him go, dropping him to the floor. The couple left. Dick, already feeling the effects of the drug, crawled towards the mattress. Despite the dire situation, he found himself relaxing. Warm and lightheaded, he stretched out, knowing that what he felt was wrong and finding it hard to care._

_._

Richard woke up to a dark room. His head still ached and his body still shook, but he felt a little better. There was still a long way to go, but he no longer wanted to do anything for a hit, so he considered that a win.

He smelt smoke. Sitting up, he saw a person dressed in a leather jacket and large boots leaning out the window, smoking a cigarette.

"Jason?"

Jason turned around. He kept the arm that was holding the cigarette out the window and grinned when he saw his brother.

"You're awake," he said. "Feeling better?"

"A little. You're smoking? Here?"

"Yeah, I learnt to do it discreetly when I used to live here."

"You're impossible."

"Want one?"

"Yes." Richard shuffled out of bed and stumbled towards the window. Jason grabbed him with his free hand and dragged him towards the window. He handed Richard an unlit cigarette, but Richard hesitated. "I don't think I should."

"It's legal and'll help your cravings for the things that are illegal."

"Still…"

"Don't try to quit everything at once."

Richard couldn't be bothered to fight Jason's logic, flawed as it was. He took the cigarette and the two of them leaned out the window, squashed together. Jason lit the cigarette with an old engraved lighter. Richard inhaled deeply. It tasted awful, but the slight rush made him feel so much better.

"Thanks Jay."

"No problem." Jason dropped his cigarette and lit a fresh one.

"Where is everybody?"

"Roy left. Replacement finally went to bed. B and the kid are patrolling and Alfred is… Alfreding."

"Sounds right." He took another drag of the cigarette. He spoke as he exhaled. "God I needed that."

Jason laughed. "Looked it. I can't believe I'm sneaking a smoke in Wayne Manor again and with _you_ of all people."

"You did this a lot?"

"Had to keep the habit up somehow. Used to do it on the roof as well."

Richard flicked off the ash at the end of his cigarette. He watched it float down into the flowerbed below.

"How come there wasn't a huge pile of cigarette butts outside your window?"

"And risk being caught? I snuck out and got rid of them every day."

"They probably knew, you know?" he said, referring to Bruce and Alfred.

"Yeah, but it was better if they didn't have hard evidence."

Richard laughed and shook his head. He tensed again, feeling his stomach cramp. His body shook and he nearly dropped a cigarette. "Fuck."

"All right?"

"No."

"You will be. It's almost over."

"Ha." He took another drag of the cigarette. "Have you ever, you know, done…" He glanced down at the track marks on one of his arms, hoping Jason understood his meaning.

"I've never shot up. Always associated that with my mom, but I've smoked stuff."

"When?"

"Before Bruce found me."

"But you were tiny."

"And I was cold and hungry and that helped me forget about it for a while."

"Sorry."

Jason shrugged, the movement restricted in the tight space. "It was a long time ago."

"Still… I'm sorry I was such a jerk to you when you were Robin."

"I think it's a thing. We're jerks to the Robin that replaces us."

Richard laughed. "God help the person who replaces Damian."

"We'll distract him with a cat."

"That'll work."

Feeling cold, he dropped the cigarette and pushed himself back into the room.

* * *

_Sorry for the over two month wait, but I've been busy. I had a dissertation to write and over assignments, but now University is over and, hopefully, I'll be able to update this story and The Kid more. With any luck, they'll be finished soon._

_All reviews are welcome._

_Rose_

_xx_


	12. Shame

Richard sat alone in the kitchen, trying to eat a bowl of soup. The others were in the rooms surrounding the kitchen, but Richard refused to allow them in with him. He was struggling to eat more than a couple of mouthfuls of Alfred's chicken soup. It made him feel nauseated and he didn't want to throw up again. The worse of the withdrawal was over now and he didn't need his family hovering around him all the time, so he sent them away when he said he wanted to try to eat. Bruce wasn't happy, but one look from Alfred stopped him from complaining.

He dipped the spoon into the bowl, lifted the spoon and let the contents fall back into the bowl. He tore up some of his bread roll and dropped it into the bowl, before stirring it in.

"You know moving it around the bowl is not the same as eating it."

Richard jumped and turned towards the door. Barbara was in the doorway. Her elbow rested on the armrests of her chair and she had her head in her hand as she stared at Richard. Richard glanced behind her, but saw no-one else there.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. Barbara had been out of town the last couple of weeks and although Richard had spoken to her on the phone a few times, this was the first time he had seen her face in months. He had missed her face.

"I just got back and thought I'd see you."

"But…"

She wheeled closer to the table, so she was next to him. Richard didn't move as she pulled him into a hug. He stiffened at her touch, but Barbara ignored him.

"It's good to see you," she said, pulling away.

Richard smiled. It was the first time someone said something positive to him when they first saw him. Everybody else just made comments on how bad he looked, but not Barbara, which was funny because she was always honest about how he looked.

"You to," he said. "I've really missed you."

"I know." She smacked him across the head. "You're an idiot. Do have any idea what you've put everybody through?"

Richard winced at the pain. Babs was stronger than she looked. "Yes."

"Do you?"

"Yes!"

"Good."

"I am sorry you know."

"I know."

"I never meant for this to happen."

"Who does?" Barbara reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it. "It happens and then you get better and move on from it."

"Easy for you to say," he said and instantly regretted. Barbara hit him again.

"I'll let you get away with that because you're ill at the moment."

"Sorry."

"I know." She sighed. "But it's true. You have to move past these things else you'll end up like, well…"

"Like?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Like Jason?"

Barbara went to shake her head, but stopped herself. "Yes."

"He's better than he was."

"Doesn't mean he's better."

"He has a lot to try to move past."

"His death –"

He pulled his hand free from Barbara's. "It's not just his death."

"We've all got issues."

"Isn't that the truth?"

Barbara repositioned her chair, so she was facing him. She picked up the spoon, dipped it in the bowl and stirred it.

"So what happens now?"

"What do you mean?"

"What are your plans?" She lifted the spoon to her mouth and tasted a bit of it.

"Don't know. I've been thinking about going to rehab, but I haven't spoken to the others about it yet." By others he meant Bruce, knowing his adoptive father wasn't going to let Richard out of his sight for a long time.

"That's good, what about long term?"

"Get my life back. I want to fly again."

"You will. You took me flying again, you can do it to."

"I like your optimism."

"Well someone's got to be when you're not."

Richard smile. Barbara offered him the spoon. He leaned in and ate what Barbara offered him. He almost gagged, but managed to swallow it. Barbara dunked the spoon back into the soup. Richard pushed the bowl away.

"I've had enough."

Barbara lifted the spoon. Soup dripped from it and into the bowl. "One more."

"I can't."

"Okay," Barbara said in a tone that meant that it was not okay.

She put the spoon back into the bowl. She picked up the napkin and dabbed Richard's mouth. Richard went to knock her hand away, but she caught his with her free hand and laughed. They stared at one another, before Barbara leaned in. Richard leant in to meet her, but paused. He saw one of the men Griffin found, leering over him and pulling at his clothes.

"No…" He pulled back, pushing Barbara away. Barbara grabbed the table to stop herself from wheeling across the kitchen. Richard stood up and ran into the nearest bathroom, where he fell in front of the toilet to be sick.

.

Why Damian needed to go to school was beyond him. He constantly had to correct the teacher, who ignored him, saying that _he _was the wrong one. The children there were horrible; Drake was more tolerable than the children in his class. But Grayson had insisted he went, something which his father made him carry on when he came back. He hated it. It was unnecessary. Let Drake or Todd be the one to go to school, the idiots obviously needed it. Let him be at home, making sure Grayson wasn't going to poison himself again.

He walked out of the school, wanting to be out of the red brick building while he waited for Pennyworth to pick him up. The butler had sent him a message earlier, saying he would be slightly late as he was taking Gordon home. Damian crossed the road and sat on a bench opposite the school. He pulled out his maths homework, knowing he could complete it before Pennyworth arrived. It was all pretty juvenile; he had been doing problems like this since he was three.

As he was correcting one of the problems printed in the textbook, a car pulled up beside him. He looked up as the passenger side window was rolled down.

"Damian Wayne?" a heavyset man asked.

"Yes," he said, putting his books back in his bag while also grabbing the knife he kept concealed at the bottom. Both his father and his mother (and he supposed his sort of 'brothers') had a lot of enemies; he couldn't be too careful.

"We want to ask you a few questions about Richard."

"I've been told not to answer questions from reporters," he said putting on what Drake liked to call his 'real boy' act.

"We're not reporters," said the man. "We're friends with Ri-Dick."

"-TT-" He stood up and put his books back in his bag. "I've got to go."

He made to leave, but heard the car start up to follow him. There was a panic button in his school's jacket pocket. He slipped his hand into his pocket, grabbing it, making ready to press if Grayson's 'friends' were hostile.

"Hey kid, c'mon. Talk to us," said the man.

Damian turned around, ready to yell at the man. What he wasn't expecting was the sudden swinging open of the car door, slamming into Damian's face and knocking him to the floor. He felt blood pour from his nose. It was then that the man grabbed Damian, hauling him into the front seat. Damian kicked out, hoping to break the man's grip. It was such a sloppy kidnapping and he was embarrassed that he fell for it. The man pressed a cloth to his face and he tasted chloroform.

"Sorry for this," the man said as Damian began to feel the effects of the drug. "But I need to talk to your brother and this was the only way I can."

Damian tried to growl at the man, but the sound was rather pathetic. He heard the man say, "Take him where we've got the Drake kid."

Before he passed out, Damian cursed the day his father thought it was a good idea to take in orphaned children.


End file.
